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REVISED EDITION WITH HELPS TO STUDY 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

WITH SELECTIONS FROM 

THE SKETCH BOOK 



BY 

WASHINGTON IRVING ' 



EDITED FOR SCHOaL USE 
\ BY 

GEORGE PHILIP KRAPP 

COLUMBIA University 



SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK 



• 



rfO 




%^° 



Copyright 1901, 1920 
By Scott, Foresman and Company 



MAK 29 1320 



ROBERT O LAW COMPANY 

EDITION BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
CHICAGO, U. S. A 



©CI.A565872 



1 



PREFACE 

For the intelligent reading of Irving very little critical 
apparatus seems necessary. In the Introduction to the 
present volume the endeavor has been to give a sym- 
^pathetic sketch of the life of Irving, followed by a brief 
criticism of the group of three or four works to which the 
Tales of a Traveller and the Sketch Book belong. In 
the notes all but the most evident allusions have been 
explained and most of the foreign words and phrases have 
been translated. An occasional topic for class discussion 
is suggested; but generally all matters of criticism and 
opinion have been left untouched. 

A word in explanation of the reasons determining the 
choice of material in the present edition seems necessary. 
Generally in the high-school course there is time for but 
one example of Irving's work, and the volume usually 
chosen is the Sketch Book. Yet in some important ways 
(detailed more fully on pp. 27, 28), the Sketch Book is less 
representative of the best in Irving than the Tales of a 
Traveller or even the Alhamhra. But, yet again, the Sketch 
Book contains at least two numbers. Rip Van Winkle and 
the Legend of Sleepy Hollow^ which every reader must 
know before he can know Irving. It seemed best there- 
fore to add to the Tales of a Traveller these two num- 
bers from the Sketch Book^ giving thereby a collection 
which might stand as an adequate representation of one 
side of Irving's work. This position receives confirmation 



6 PREFACE 

in a recent decision of Harvard University. In tlie list of 
books recommended to candidates for entrance into the 
college (see Annual Reports of the President and the 
Treasurer of Harvard College^ 1899-1900, p. 95), the 
suggested reading in Irving is the Tales of a Traveller^ the 
Legend of Sleepy Holloiv and Rip Van Winkle. 

The text of the present edition, the author's revised 
text of 1848, is taken, with the kind permission of the 
publishers, from Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons Student's 
Edition of the Sketch Book and the Tales of a Traveller, 

New York, May, 1901. 



CONTENTS 



Preface . 

Introduction 

I. Biography 

II. The Sketch Book and the Tales of a Traveller 

III. Bibliography 

Table of Chief Dates in Irving' s Life 



5 

9 

27 

'32 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



PART FIRST— STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN 



The Great Unknown 

The Hunting-Dinner .... 
The Adventure of my Uncle 
The Adventure of my Aunt . 
-The Bold Dragoon, or the Adventure of 

FATHER 

'Adventure of the German Student 
Adventure of the Mysterious Ticture 

.J^dventure of the Mysterious Stranger 
The Story of the Young Italian 



MY 



Grand- 



41 
42 
48 
68 

69 

80 

88 

98 

108 



part second— buckthorne and his friends 

Literary Life . . 145 

A Literary Dinner 148 

The Club of Queer Fellows 152 

The Poor-Devil Author 158 

Notoriety 183 

A Practical Philosopher ...... 186. 

Bttckthorne, or the Young Man of Great Expectations 188 

Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man . . 254 

The Booby Squire 260 

The Strolling Manager ^66 

7 



S CONTENTS 

PART THIRD— THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 

PA0B 

The Inn at Terracina . . . . ^ . . . .289 

Adventure of the Little Antiquary . . . . 304 

The Belated Travellers 315 

Adventure of the Popkins Family .... 334 

The Painter's Adventure 340 

The Story of the Bandit Chieftain .... 350 

The Story of the Young Robber 364 

The Adventure of the Englishman .... 378 



part fourth— the money-diggers 

Hell-Gate . . 389 

KiDD THE Pirate 393 

The Devil and Tom Walker 400 

WoLFERT Webber, or Golden Dreams . . . 417 

Adventure of the Black Fisherman .... 444 

SELECTIONS FROM THE SKETCH BOOK 

Rip Van Winkle . . . . . . . ' . 485 

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 509 

Word Index > . 548 

Appendix 

Helps to Study .552 

Theme Subjects 556 

Selections for Class Reading , » , , . 558 



INTEODUCTION 



I. BIOGKAPHY 



There is a familiar engraving which represents an 
imaginary gathering of Washington Irving and his literary 
irvin and friends ^t Sunnyside, the home of Irving's 
Ms uterary later years. In the center of the foreground 
lends. Irving is seated, a somewhat portly, smooth- 

faced and kindly-looking man of fifty or more. At his 
near left stands James K. Paulding, an early literary 
comrade and life-long friend. Near by sit Bryant, the 
poet and editor. Cooper, the novelist, and Bancroft, the 
historian. Somewhat in the background stands a younger 
man — Emerson, the poet and philosopher. On the right 
the place of honor is held by Prescott, Irving's friendly 
rival in the field of Spanish history. Here also are Hal- 
leck, remembered as the author of Marco Bozzaris, and, 
again in the background, several younger men — Nathan- 
iel Parker Willis, William Gilmore Simms, Longfellow, 
Hawthorne, Holmes. But the center of the picture i£; 
Irving; all the other figures of the group combine to 
bring him, out with special prominence. 

This fancy of the artist pictures to us very well the 
place of Washington Irving in American letters during 
the later years of his life. Other names were becoming 
known — those of Longfellow, Hawthorne, Emerson — 
names that were destined to equal, some of them perhaps 
to surpass, his in renown; but they were the names 



10 "^ INTRODUCTION 

of young men, candidates for fame and as yet hardly wel! 
breathed in the race. Irving was nearing the term of a 
long and prosperous career, a career that covers one-half 
of our whole literary history. He could look back to the 
time when American letters were not yet in existence, for 
he himself was the chief founder of them. 
literature Until witMn a few years of the Revolution- 

before ^j.j ^^^ jj^q^ ]^^^ bccu too much engaged 

in clearing farms and building homes to 
spend much time on the more leisurely pursuits of art and 
letters. There were historians, for example Bradford and 
Winslow ; and preachers, for example Cotton Mather and 
Jonathan Edwards. But often their work is crude in 
form and narrow in subiect- matter; when we read the 
writers of this period now it is with something of the anti- 
quarian's pleasure in their quaintness and archaisms, or the 
historian's interest in the information to be derived from 
them. In a somewhat later period the intellectual stir that 
preceded and accompanied the Revolution bore fruit in a 
plentiful yield of state papers, speeches, pamphlets, and 
even poetry. Some of it is extremely vigorous, and at its 
time it was effective. But, as is almost always true of lit- 
erature written for a special time or occasion, very little 
of it has outlived the period of its product! on^ With the 
possible exception of Woolman the Quaker's Journal, the 
only American book written before the close of the Revo- 
lutionary War that still holds a worthy place by reason of 
its literary excellence is Eranklin's Autobiography. Yet 
nothinff was further from Franklin's intention than the 
composition of a work of literature. Franklin was states- 
man, scientist, philanthropist, all more or less consciously ; 
but he has come to be counted among men of letters 
almost by .accident. The first writer in America who 



BIOGRAPHY 11 

deliberately chose letters as a profession was Charles 
Brockden Brown, a moderately' successful journalist and 
novelist of the first decade of this century. But Brown's 
work did not have sufficient power or originality to draw 
together and give form to the incipient literary tendencies 
of the country. Irving, the first American to gain wide 
reputation abroad, was also the first to gain a reputation 
at home that has proved lasting. Cooper and Bryant were 
his near followers; but all the other names in the first 
flowering period of American literature came into promi- 
nence only after his fame had reached its zenith. 

Irving was born in New York in 1783, the year the 

Treaty of Paris was signed and the independence of the 

United States formally acknowledged. 

Irving's birth. 

Washington, for whom he was named, was 
inaugurated when Irving was six years old ; and we aro 
told that when he came to New York to take the oath 
of office as first President, he placed his hands upon 
the head of his youthful namesake and gave him his 
blessing. 

That America of which Washington took control in 
1789 was an almost inconceivably different country from 
the America of to-day. The settled portions of it were 
still a mere fringe along the Atlantic coast. Eighteen 
years were to pass before Fulton made his first experi- 
ments with the *' Clermont" on the Hudson, and thirty- 
nine years before work was begun on the Baltimore 
and Ohio railroad, the first railroad to cross the Allegha- 
nieSc But perhaps the most astonishing changes of the 
past hundred years are those which have affected the 
cities of the country. When Irving was a boy in New 
York, that place was a town of less than 25,000 inhab- 
itants. It covered only the lower end, the point, of 



12 INTRODUCTION 

Manhattan Island. The present Bleeker Stieet marked 
the northern limits of the little town.^ Beyond that 
stretched the rocky, hill-broken farms of the Dutch set- 
tlers — the Wolfert Webbers whom fate was to make rich 
in spite of themselves. The fashionable promenade was 
in Battery Park, now a region of grimy shipping and 
ugly warehouses; and William Street, in which Irving's 
father lived, now a street of tall office-buijdings, was then 
an uptown residence street. 

There was much in the life of this eighteenth-century 
New York to excite the imagination of a sensitive boy, and 
Irving spent his time in exploring the secret places of his 
native city and in wandering through the half -wild regions 
beyond the Harlem. The wandering instinct was strongly 
developed in him, and when his explorations on land grew 
tame, he tells how he would go down to the wharves at the 
city's edge and watch v;:th longing eye the great vessels 
mil slowly out of th& harbor on their long voyages across 
»he ocean. 

His own first long voyage was one he never forgot. In 
^is seventeenth year his parents gave him permission to 
^ake a summer visit to his sister, who lived near Albany, 
tn 1800 the best way to reach Albany from New York was 
3y boat on the Hudson Eiver. Nowadays the distance is 
(rving's first Daadc in less than twelve hours ; but then it 
trip up the was aloug voyagc by sail, and Irving tells with 
adson. what anxiety intending passengers selected 

their boat and made all possible preparations for their com- 
fort. This journey made known to Irving for the first time 
the beauties of the river that he never ceased to love. The 
depth and vividness of the impressions he received at this 

1 Of. Todd, The Story of New York, p. 438. 



BIOGRAPHY 13 

time may be seen from the following description written 
many years afterwards: 

*'What a time of intense delight was that first sail 
through the Highlands! I sat on the deck as we slowly 
tided along at the foot of those stern mountains, and 
gazed with wonder and admiration at those stern cliffs 
impending far above me, crowned with forests, with 
eagles sailing and screaming around them; or listened to 
the unseen stream dashing down precipices; or beheld 
rock, and tree, and cloud, and sky reflected in the glassy 
stream of the river. And then how solemn and thrilling 
the scene as we anchored at night at the foot of these 
mountains, clothed with overhanging forests; and every- 
thing grew dark and mysterious ; and I heard the plaintive 
. note of the whip-poor-will from the mountain-side, or was 
startled now and then by the sudden leap and heavy 
splash of the sturgeon. 

". . . But of all the scenery of the Hudson, the 
Kaatskill Mountains had the most witching effect on my 
boyish imagination. Never shall I forget the effect upon 
me of the first view of them predominating over a wide 
extent of country, part wild, woody, and rugged; part 
softened away into all the .graces of cultivation. As we 
slowly floated along, I lay on the deck and watched them 
through a long summer's day, undergoing a thousand 
mutations under the magical effects of atmosphere; some- 
times seeming to approach, at other times to recede ; now 
almost melting into hazy distance, now burnished by the 
setting sun, until, in the evening, they printed themselves 
against the glowing sky in the deep purple of an Italian 
landscape." — Life^ by P. M. Irving, vol. I, p. 19. 

Perhaps, as it so often proves with the recollections of 
childhood, Irving has unconsciously filled in the above 
picture from the recollection of his frequent later trips up 
the Hudson. Yet the fact that thdse later recollections all 
center around that first early experience shows that it was 
. a profound one, and, in Irving's life, the most form- 
ative of them all. 



i4 INTRODUCTION 

But manifestly a man's life could not all be spent in 
idle "wandering, however pleasant that might be. In the 

summer after this trip up the Hudson Irving 
-atiaw.^** began the serious study of the law. His 

preliminary education had been very slight 
indeed. He had attended a boy's school for some years, 
and had prepared for entrance to Columbia college. Two 
of his brothers had attended this college and had been 
graduated from it. But, perhaps through negligence or 
a dislike of all formal study, Irving himself did not 
enter the college. In after life he always regretted the 
omission of the formal discipline of a college course In 
liis education, for he thought it deprived him of an advan- 
tage he was never able to make up in other ways. With 
no more liking for the routine of law than for that of the 
school, Irving nevertheless gave his attention to the former 
subject for the next few years. Before he could be admitted 
to the bar, however, his health broke down, and in 1804, 
in hopes of restoring him, it was determined to send him 
on a voyage to Europe. Thus,' though doubtless in a way 
far different from that he had imagined, a long cherished 
wish was to be realized. 

The voyage across the water was made in May and June 
of 1804, and proved to be the thing Irving most needed. 

When, after a voyage of six weeks, he left 

fo^Europe?^^ ^^® ^^^P ^^ Bordcaux, his health was very 
much improved. For a year and a half, he 
was a traveller and sight-seer, visiting various places in 
France, Italy, and England, meeting many famous peo- 
ple, and passing through many exciting and whimsical 
adventures. He soon developed the true traveller's spirit 
and took the buffets and the favors of fortune with equal 
good will. During most of these journeyings, he kept 



BIOGRAPHY 15 

a diary in which he noted his opinions and observa- 
tions and described the adventures of a traveller's life. 
Perhaps the most exciting of these experiences was an 
attack by Italian pirates. He was passenger on a ship 
bound from Genoa to Messina for a cargo of wine, and 
when several days, out the ship was attacked by pirates, 
off the coast of Italy near the Is'land of Elba. Though 
the affair proved a bloodless one, it was not unattended 
with danger. The description of it^ reads almost like an 
extract from one of Irving's own banditti stories in the 
Tales of a Traveller ., and often in writing those stories, 
he must have thought of his early experiences in Italy. 
Fortunately no more serious adventure than this of the 
pirates occurred to interrupt the journeyings of the 
youthful traveller. He continued on his way through 
France and Italy, and passed the latter part of his stay 
abroad in England. He took ship for America in Janu- 
ary, 1806, and after a rough voyage of over nine weeks, 
arrived safely at New York. 

As soon as he had settled down in his old place, Irving 
again took up the study of the law, and after several 
months, in November, 1806, was admitted 
to«i^*Bar. *^ ^^^® ^^^ 0^ ^®w York, His admission, 
however, was due more to the good-nature 
of his examiners than to the adequacy of his preparation ; 
for we may well suppose that what little legal learning 
had found its way into his brain before his departure had 
been quite crowded out by the many new experiences of 
his two years abroad. Even after his admission to the 
bar, he does not appear to have taken much interest in his 
profession. To his natural dislike of the dry routine of 
business there was added the further distraction of an 

1 Life, by P. W. Irving, vol. I, p. 65 ff . ""* 



16 INTRODUCTION 

active social life. He had many graces of nature and of 
majiner; his disposition was frank and kindly, and wher- 
evp.r he was known he was liked. His letters of this 
period from Eichmond and Baltimore and Washington 
show with what ease and pleasure he took his place in 
the best social life' of the coriimunity in which he hap- 
pened to find himself. 

About this time Irving made his first attempts 6f an;»' 
importance at literature. Together with his brother Wi^ 
liam and James K. Paulding a young friei 
and relative, he projected a Spectatoi 
like periodical called Salmagujidi. The first number 
of this . periodical appeared in January 1807, and nine- 
teen other numbers appeared at irregular intervals be- 
tween that time and the appearance of the last number 
in January, 1808. The purpose of the periodical as 
announced by the editors in the first number was impu- 
dent enough when we consider their age and inexperience : 
**Our purpose is simply to instruct the young, reform the 
old, correct the town, and castigate the age; this is an 
arduous task, and therefore we undertake it with confi- 
dence." The essays, broadly humorous and satirical, had 
the high-spirits and unrestraint of youth. They secured 
for the writers a considerable local popularity, but they 
were ephemeral in character and Irving himself was soon 
quite willing to have them forgotten. 

Irving 's second literary venture brought him a wideT 

and more lasting fame than the Salmagundi papers. In 

1809 he published his Knickerhocker^ s His- 

Knickerbocker ^ . ^^^^^ yovk. This is a burlcsquc 

History. :J J 

history of New York, supposed to have 
been made up from the writings of a Dutch antiquary, 
Diedrich Knickerbocker. It undoubtedly ranks as 



BIOGRAPHY 17 

irving's masterpiece of humor. Sir Walter Scott, who 
praised the book warmly, thought he saw in it great 
resemblance to the satire of Swift. The Knicherlocker 
History^ however, is without the deep seriousness of 
Swift's satire; like Salmagundi^ it shows more the 
high spirits of youth than the settled purpose of the 
satirist. At the time of the appearance of the book it 
was severely criticised by many of the Dutch families 
in New York, who felt personally aggrieved at the ludi- 
crous figures their Dutch ancestry made in its pages. 
And in fact there was slight justification for such treats 
ment of the burghers of New Amsterdam. Irving chose 
to present the unjustly exaggerated view of Dutch char- 
acter that had long been traditional in British literature. 
In England, where the Dutch with their armies and fleets 
had several times so frightened the English that the Eng- 
lish were driven to exaggerated satire to regain their self- 
respect, such a treatment of the subject as Irving's would 
have had point ; but in America no more inoffensive and 
industrious race of people than the Dutch was to be found 
in all the Colonies. But neither satire nor history was 
the main object of the KiiickerhocTcer History. Irving, 
"writing in 1848, thus outlines the purpose of the book: 

"It was to embody the traditions of our city in an amus- 
ing form; to illustrate its local humors, customs, and 
peculiarities ; to clothe home scenes and places and familiar 
names with those imaginative and whimsical associations 
so seldom met with in our new country, but which live 
like charms and spells about the cities of the old .world, 
binding the heart of the native inhabitant to his home." 

How well the book accomplished this purpose can be 

seen by a glance at its present-day effects. In New York 

the Knickerbocker legend has worked itself into the very 

fiber of the people. Allusions to it ^are familiarly used 



/ 
18 INTRODUCTION 

by many who have never read a line of Irving. The name 
itself, by an odd change, has become a synonym for aris- 
tocracy. In a thousand ways the legend has preserved 
traditions and sentiments that otherwise would have been 
speedily lost. It lives like a charm and a spell, binding 
the heart of the native inhabitant to his country ; it has 
become itself a part of the country. 

The Knickerbocker History was revised and brought to 
completion beneath the darkest shadow that ever obscured 

Irving 's sky. Matilda Hoffman, to whom he 
Hoffman. *** ^^^ engaged to be married, died after a brief 

illness in her eighteenth year. Her memory 
always lingered in his mind,ready to be called forth by the 
slightest occasion. He never again thought of marriage, 
and never accustomed himself to speak Miss Hoffman's 
name. There was something of fine chivalry in him that 
held him true even to a memory, and to the end he always 
kept before him the image of his early love in her first 
youth and beauty. 

The next few years after the appearance of the Knicker- 
hocker History saw nothing new from Irving's pen. His 

natural indolence must explain this, for his 
difficuuies. ^^^ practice made slight enough demands 

upon his time. In 1810 he was made a 
silent partner in a hardware business which was conducted 
by his brothers. This connection, though first the cause 
of much anxiety to him, was finally the making of his 
literary career. For the business affairs of the firm hav- 
ing become embarrassed, in 1815 Irving was sent to a 
branch house in Liverpool for the purpose of putting 
things in order. For three years he labored over the 
uncongenial details of business. But the affairs of the 
firm passed from bad to worse, and despite the brothers' 



BIOGRAPHY 19 

best efforts, in 1318 they were finally driven to bank- 
ruptcy. In this apparent misfortune, however, there lay 
a blessing for Irving; his undisciplined nature always 
needed a strong incentive to work, and in the necessity of 
making a living he found this incentive. Leaving Liver- 
pool, he went up to London with no other defense against 
the hostility of fortune than his pen ; and the rest of Ii'v- 
ing's life is the story of the way he, with that single 
weapon^ not only won wealth abundant but an enduring 
fame and honor better than all wealth. 

The first fruit of Irving's activity in London was his most 
famous book — the Sketch Book. The story of the way this 
book was written shows clearly the diffi- 
culties under which Irving at the time 
labored. He was far from home, with no helpful friend 
to turn to for advice or comfort, and with no prospect of 
any certain income; worst of all, however, was his home 
friends' lack of faith in him. To them it seemed mad- 
ness wlien Irving; refused an unimportant government 
position at Washington which would have given him an 
assured income but would have shut the way entirely to 
any further literary advance. In the face of these diffi- 
culties Irving went bravely to work upon the project of 
the Sketch Book. His plan was to issue the book in num- 
bers, in America only, under the name of G eoffrey Crayon. 
In the prospectus prefixed to the first number, he 
announced the plan of his work in a very tentative and 
hesitating manner, showing clearly how unsure he was of 
himself : 

'*The following writings are published on experi- 
ment; should they please, they may be followed by others. 
The writer will have to* contend with some disadvantages. 
He is unsettled in his abode, subject to interruptions, and 



20 INTRODUCTION 

has his share of cares and vicissitudes. He cannot, there- 
fore, promise a regular plan, nor regular periods of publi- 
cation. " 

The first number appeared in May, 1819, and contained 
The Author'' s Account of Himpelf^ Tlie Voyage^ Eoscoe, 
The Wife, and Rip Van Winkle. The second number 
appeared several months later and contained four essays — 
English Writers on America, Rural Life in England, The 
Brohen Heart, and Tlie Art of Boolc-maMng. A third 
number appeared in September of the same year and was 
followed at irregular intervals by four more numbers, the 
last number appearing in September, 1820. 

The success of the Sketch Booh was immediate and gen- 
eral. The pen-name Geoffrey Crayon could not hide the 
fact that the KnicTcerhocher History of New 
York and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow were 
written by the same hand, and to the liking for the 
sketches themselves was added all Irving's earlier popu- 
larity. The books sold well and relieved their author of 
the worry and trouble of immediate need. But better 
than this, their success restored to him some of the con- 
confidence in himself which the anxieties of the past few 
years had robbed him of. Sir Walter Scott offered him 
the editorship of a new periodical publication about 
to be established in Edinburgh; and Irving, though he 
declined the offer because he felt himself unfit for the reg- 
ular routine of such an occupation, was very much grati- 
fied at this renewed expression of good will on the part 
of the great author. The kind words of his intimate 
friends and the generous appreciation of many of the best 
critics in America revived him and gave him incentive to 
renewed effort. His fine sensitiveness to praise and blame 
shows clearly in the way in which he took the news of 



BIOGRAPHY 21 

his success. The following extract is from a letter 
written to a friend in New York after the appearance of 
several numbers of the work : 

"The manner in which the work has been received, and 
the eulogiums that have been passed upon it in the Amer- 
ican papers and periodical works, have completely over- 
whelmed me. They go far, far beyond my most sanguine 
expectations; and, indeed, are expressed with such pecul- 
iar warmth and kindness, as to ajffect me in the tenderest 
manner. The receipt of your letter, and the reading of 
some of the criticisms this morning, have rendered me 
nervous for the whole day. I feel almost appalled by such 
success, and fearful that it cannot be real, or that it is not 
fully merited, or that I shall not act up to the expecta- 
tions that may be formed. We are whimsically consti- 
tuted beings. I had got out of conceit of all that I had 
written, and considered it very questionable stuff, and 
now that it is so extravagantly be-praised, I begin to feel 
that I shall not do as well again. However we shall see 
as we get on. As yet I am extremely irregular and pre- 
carious in my fits of composition. The least thing puts 
me out of the vein, and even applause flurries me, and 
prevents my writing; though, of course, it will ultimately 
be a stimulus. 

"I hope you will not attribute all this sensibility to tne 
kind reception I have met with to an author's vanity. I 
am sure it proceeds from very different sourceg. Vanity 
could not bring the tears into my eyes, as they have been 
brought by the kindness of my countrymen. I have felt 
cast down, blighted, and broken-spirited, and these sud- 
den rays of sunshine agitate even more than they revive 
me."— Xt/e, by P. M. Irving, vol. I, pp. 330, 31. 

After the first six numbers of the Sketch Booh had ap- 
peared in America, Irving was driven by the appearance of 
various unauthorized editions to publish them in Eng- 
land. The first attempt came to grief through the failure 
of his publisher ; but finally, aided by the good words of 



22 INTRODUCTION 

Walter Scott, the book was accepted by Murray, the 
greatest of English publishers. Its success in England 
' was as great as it was in America; perhaps 

f"^!!«?o*T the most evident mark of this is the fact 

in iiinglana* 

that twice the publisher begged the author 
to accept a sum of one hundred guineas in addition 
to the terms agreed upon by them. We, as Americans, 
however, have special reason to feel gratified that the 
success of the Sketch Book was first won in America. In 
that day, America q critical judgment depended only too 
often upon British example and it is a pleasure to know 
that our first native writer of importance was accepted by 
us without waiting upon foreign opinion. 

The next few years after the appearance of the Sketch 
Book \NQve years of wandering. The autumn and winter of 
1820-21 wore speaton the continent, chiefly in Paris. Here 
Irving formed a firm friendship with Thomas Moore, the 
poet; and indeed we should expect sympathy of spirit be- 
tween the man who wrote the Broken Heart and the author 

of »the Irish Melodies. After his return to 
Bracebridge Loudon, iu Januarv, 1822, Irvinsr published 

HaU and Tales „ '. , y-r -,- n , - , - 

of a Tritveiier. BraceoriclfjG ilcdl^ iirst in America, and in 
May of the same year in England. In method 
the book resembles the Sketch Book; it is a miscellaneous 
collection of essays and short stories suggested by the 
experiences of travel or elaborated from the outlines of 
things that had long been ripening in the author's mem- 
ory. Though it did not have the charm of novelty, it 
was well received both in England and America. Again 
in 1822 Irving was on the continent, travelling through 
France and Germany. It was on this journey, while 
detained by illness at Mayence that he wrote the intro- 
duction to a volume which takes its title from the cir« 



BIOGRAPHY 33 

cumstances of its composition — the Tales of a Traveller, 
The body of the book was written during the winter 
of 1823-24, in Paris, though the completed volume was 
not published until his return to England, in 1824. De- 
spite Irving's own special liking for the Tales of a Trav- 
eller and despite the fact that it contains some of the 
author's best work, it was coolly received by the pub- 
lic. The reason for this is evident. The three books 
that he had so far published — the Sketch Booh^ Brace- 
bridge Hall, and the Tales of a Traveller^ were of a kind. 
They were all books made up of pleasant descriptive 
and reflective essays and humorous short stories ; they all 
breathed the same quiet air of kindly though not very 
vigorous interest in the life of the world the author knew. 
Something of this was accepted eagerly and more was 
taken willingly; but Irving was guilty of the error of feed- 
ing to satiety the taste he had aroused and his readers 
murmured at the same dish continually set before them. 

Irving was not slow in seeing that the field he had hith- 
erto been cultivating was worked out. He determined to 
place himself in entirely new, fresh sur- 
Life in Spain, rouudiugs and to occupy himself with an en- 
tirely new sort of work. In 1826 he went 
to Spain, in which country he lived for three years. This 
period he spent in visiting the various famous places of 
the land and in much close reading of historical manu- 
scripts in the chief Spanish libraries. The results of 
these historical studies appeared in the publication of his 
Life of Golumhus^ in 1828; of the Conquest of Granada 
in 1829; of the Companions of Columius in 1831 ; and, as a 
final lighter postlude to these more serioits works, of the 
Alhambra m 1%^%. 

The year of the publication of the Alhamhra closes 



24 INTRODUCTION 

a period in Irving's life. In that year, after an un- 
broken absence of seventeen years, lie came home to 'Nevi 
York. How eageriy he always looked forward to this 
return is made very evident in his letters to his friends 
throughout the whole of these seventeen years. He had 
never the slightest thought of a permanent residence 
abroad, and now that success had brought him a good 

name and an assured income, he rejoiced in 
home!^^^^ them chiefly because they helped him to 

realize what had always been his first hope. 
After the disturbances of the home-coming were over and 
after several extensive trips through the South and the 
West, sections of the country which were almost unbroken 
wilderness when he left America but now were filled with 
cities and towns, he purchased the little Dutch cottage 
on the bank of the Hudson near Tarrytown, called by its 
former owner Wolfert's Eoost, that is in English, Wol- 
fert's Rest, but known to us better by the name which 
Irving gave it, — Sunnyside. Here he passed the rest of 
his life with the exception of four years, from 1842-46, 
during which time he served as minister to Spain. 

During Irving's residence at Madrid, no diplomatic com- 
plications which might have tested his political wisdom 
arose. The distractions of his position were sufficient, 
however, to prevent him from carrying out any of his 
literary plans, and at the close of his four years he was 
glad to return to his home on the banks of the Hudson. 
These years at Sunnyside were serene and happy ones. 
Irving was the foremost man of letters in America and 
his home became the natural center of aU the literary 
life of the country. He was looked upon as both the 
founder and the patriarch of American letters. He was 
not however content to rest in honor, and as a result of 



BIOGRAPHY 25 

these last labors he published in 1849 a Life of Oliver 
Goldsmith smd a Life of 3fahomet. His last work was a 
Last works Life of Washington. He had been engaged 
and death. upon this task f or many years and he intended 
that it should stand as the most lasting monument to his 
memory. The first volume was published in 1855; ill- 
health delayed the completion of the second volume and it 
was not until 1859 that it was ready for publication. It 
came as a fitting close to a life of unceasing industry. 
After a long and trying sickness, borne with great equa- 
nimity of spirit, Irving died in November of the same year. 
As a man, perhaps kindliness was Irving's main charac- 
teristic. There was nothing of self-assertion in him or of 
contempt for the wishes or the weaknesses 
Irving's Qf }^ig fellow-men. This side of his character 

disposition. . n .ii 

is well illustrated by an action of his later 
years. After his retui*n to America he was engaged upon 
a work which was to treat of the Spanish invasion of 
Mexico. He had gathered his material and had already 
begun the actual composition of the book when his atten- 
tion was called to the fact that a young man hitherto 
unknown to him, named Prescott, was engaged upon the 
same subject. After determining the seriousness of his 
rival and his ability to accomplish the task he had chosen, 
Irving generously relinquished the subject to him. As a 
result we gained Prescott 's Conquest of Mexico though we 
missed from Irving the story of a period that he was 
peculiarly fitted to treat. We cannot but feel, however, 
that one such action is worth more than a whole row of 
volumes. Throughout Irving's long and varied life, we 
do not know that he ever cherished a single enmity or 
that he was ever mixed up in any of the petty quarrels 
such as spot the lives of so many men of letters. Yet his 



36 INTRODUCTION 

amiability was due to no weakness of character or want of 
fixed opinions. The sure judgment of his own powers 
maintained in the face of a disheartening opposition, the 
uninterrupted faithfulness to his country during a long 
residence abroad in which he had every encouragement to 
forget that country, and finally the depth and sincerity of 
the attachment of his half-dozen personal friends to him 
— these are sufficient indications of strength and individ- 
uality of character. 

The second main characteristic of the man was delicacy 
and refinement of feeling. Perhaps his was not a very 
profound or strenuous nature. He never cared to mix in 
His delicacy politics or in the daily concerns of a business 
and refinement life; his seusc of pcrsoual repugnaucc to- 
of feeling. wards sordid details was stronger than his 
sense of the good to be accomplished through the use of 
such tools. This attitude towards the things of daily life 
is not, to be sure, very unusual, nor is it generally to be 
commended. The justification of it in Irving is to be 
found in a real and not an affected delicacy of nature. 
Irving's temperament was that of a poet — a poet of a 
tender and somewhat sentimental cast of imagination. 
Always the characteristic of his work is beauty rather 
than power. However much he may have felt in his heart 
the deeper mysteries of existence, in open life he preferred 
the play of gentler feelings and emotions. 

As a corrective to what might otherwise have proved a 
cloying sweetness of nature, Irving was possessed of a 
His sens© third main characteristic — an unfailing sense 

of humor. ^f ^^^q humorous and whimsical in life. The 

world was not tragic to him; neither was it entirely happy. 
It was a place of mixed good and evil where one could 
rejoice at the good, sorrow at the evil, it is true, but for- 



SKETCHBOOK 27 

get it chiefly/ in the distractions which a kind fate has 
put at our disposal. 

II. THE SKETCH BOOK AND THE TALES OF A. TRAVELLER 

Irving 's fame rests most securely upon four volumes of 
his earlier work — the Sketch Book, Bracehridge Hall, the 
Tales of a Traveller, and the Alhamhra. The most widely 
read of these four books and the one which engages the 
most lively popular interest, has always been the Sketch 
Book. Yet in some respects the Sketch Book, taken as a 
whole, is inferior to either of the last two books of the 
group. Irving, as an essayist, frankly belongs to the 
school of Addison and nowhere in his works are the marks 
of his discipleship so evident as in parts of the Sketch 
Book. In form, in style, and even in sentiment, such 
essays as Roscoe, The Wife, The Broken Heart, A Royal Poet, 
The Widow and Her Son, and The Pride of the Village, 
are copies of Irving's literary models — Addison and Gold- 
smith. Likewise in those numbers descriptive of English 
customs and localities, such as The Country Church, West- 
miiister Abbey, Christmas, and the other essays of that 
group, we have essentially the method of Addison, differing 
only in that it is applied by one who stands without the 
English life which he describes. Bracehridge Hall, which . 
is largely an elaboration of the Christmas essays of the 
Sketch Book, is clearly under the same influences. All of 
these sketches show literary taste and exquisite sensi- 
tiveness to literary impressions ; but no more. It was this 
characteristic of his work that led Hazlitt, the English 
critic, to say of Irving a short time after the appearance of 
the Sketch Book, that his writings were "very good copies 
of our British essayists and novelists, which may be very 



28 INTRODUCTION 

well on the other side of the water, or as proofs of the 
capabilities of the national genius, but which might be dis- 
pensed with here, where we have to boast of the originals. " ^ 

Hazlitt's ears, however, were so filled with the old note 
in the Sketch Book, that he was deaf to what was new and 
individual in it. In Bip Van Winkle^ the Legend of 
Sleepy Holloiv^ and, to a less degree, in the Spectre Bride- 
groom^ we have examples of independent and original work. 
It is probably the interest of the first two of these three 
numbers of the Sketch Book that has enabled it to main- 
tain the distinguished place which it has always held among 
Irving's works. In the stories of this type Irving found 
himself; and the characteristics which mark these two 
stories are worked out, perhaps not more perfectly, but 
more consistently and with more conscious mastery of 
form,in the later volumes, the Alhamhra and the Tales of 
a Traveller. 

The first distinctive characteristic of the volumes of this 
group is one of form. In his reflective and descriptive 
essays, as has been said above, Irving is a manifest fol- 
lower of Addison. In his use of the short-story farm in 
English, however, Irving stands a pioneer. When he began 
to write, the short story still bore upon it the marks of its 
origin ; it was either a hard, formal, didactic treatise, derived 
The Short from the moral apologue or fable; or it was 

story. ^ sentimental love-tale, dei./ed from the arti- 

ficial love-romance that followed the romance of chivalry. 
Irving took this form and made of it merely -Hhe frame on 
which to stretch his materials. " His materials were not 
the old formal apologue, nor the worn-out romance of 
love, nor, again, mere ingenuity of plot and incident, but 
rather the materials which modern fiction has made specially 

^ The Spirit of the Age, p. 405. 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 29 

its own — **the play of thought, and sentiment, and lan- 
guage; the weaving in of characters, lightly, yet expres- 
sively delineated ; the familiar and faithful exhibition of 
scenes in common life; and the half-concealed vein of 
humor that is often playing through the whole."* Al- 
ready in his lifetime Irving found himself "elbowed by 
men who followed his footsteps. " Hawthorne and Poe were 
his near followers, and American writers since his time 
have always favored the short-story form. But whatever 
the excellence of his successors, Irving will always stand as 
the chief originator of one of the most characteristic forms 
of modern literature. 

A second and ever present element in the tales is humor. 
Perhaps we should not call Irving's humor characteristic- 
irving'8 ally American. The first notable American 

humor. humorist was Benjamin Franklin ; and in 

the mock-serious extravagance of some of his utterances we 
get strange foretastes of our latest and greatest humor- 
ist, Mark Twain. Irving's humor, perfectly individual and 
natural as it is, depends more upon the play of shades 
of feeling for its effects ; it is quiet and refined, sly and 
half-concealed. At times there is also a strain of mild 
satire mingled with it, as for example, in the Stor^/ of 
the Little Antiquary, or the Adventure of the FopJcins 
Family y both in the Tales of a Traveller. Usually, how- 
ever, the characters are depicted with a simple pleasure in 
their quaintness and oddities. They are sometimes exag- 
gerated to the point of grotesqueness, as, for example, 
the characters gathered together at The Huntiiig Dinner; 
yet the exaggeration is never carried so far as to 
take them beyond our sympathy. Dickens, who was a 
confessed admirer of Irving, probably learned something 

iLi/e, by P. M. Irving, II., 226. '^ 



30 INTRODUCTION 

from this method in the humorous and whimsical exag« 
geration of some of his own characters. There is a touch 
also of the gruesome in some of the tales. It is prob- 
able that Irving here was somewhat influenced by his 
reading in the German romantic writers of the beginning 
of the last century. Sir Walter Scott, bi his essay Ooi 
the Supernatural in Fictitious Composition., in which he 
points out the excellence of the German stories of this 
type, praises Irving 's story of the Bold Dragoon in the 
Tales of a Traveller as the only example of the fantastic 
then to be found in English literature. But even in these 
tales of the grotesque, the main purpose is always humor- 
ous; in the most striking example of^this kind, the Story of 
the Ger7nan Student^ the possible weird effect of the story 
is destroyed by its humorous conclusion. This same 
fantastic element, deepened and made more somber, 
appears again in the writings of Poe; but we can not be 
sure here that Poe did not derive his inspiration directly 
from the writings of the same German romanticists that 
influenced Irving. 

Finally, the stories under discussion are remarkable for 
what we may call a sense of locality. Irving, perhaps bet- 
ter than any other English writer, has been able to seize 
Sens*- of upon the spirit of places and fix that spirit 

^* in language. It is this power which gives 

unfailing interest to such essays in the Sketch Book as 
Westminster Abbey, Little Britain, Stratford on Avon, and 
others. The same power enabled him to transfer to his 
pages the atmosphere of faded splendor in the Alhambra, 
Similarly the romantic life of Italy a hundred years ago 
is revealed to us in the banditti stories of the Tales of a 
Traveller. In many ways Irving satisfied, and still con- 
tinues to satisfy, the natural cariosity which the people of 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 31 

America have always ha>^ concerning the manners and 
customs and famous places of Europe. The first ambas- 
sador whom the new world of letters sent to the old, as 
Thackeray called him, he was also the first messenger to 
bring back to this country an intelligent report of his 
embassy. 

But Irving was able not only to fix for us the places of 
the Old World with all their wealth of human association 
and story; he accomplished the much more difficult task 
of investing the life and nature of the New World with 
the same richness of tradition that charms us in the old. 
The legends of the Rhine mean no more to the German 
than the legends of the Hudson mean to us. Just how 
far the stories of which Irving made use were traditional 
among the inhabitants of the Hudson valley, it is perhaps 
impossible to determine. But it is certain that now they 
have become for everyone who passes through that region, 
the most appropriate expression of its poetry and beauty. 
A similar achievement was the creation of that part of the 
Knickerbocker legend which centers about the city of New 
York. This field Irving first entered in his Knicker- 
bocker History; and again and again in later works — nota- 
bly in the Money-Diggers of the Tales of a Traveller — 
he returns to the favorite subject of his youth. In this 
subject he was always successful. The legend has in- 
vested the island of Manhattan and its surrounding waters 
j with the glow of traditional romance. Knickerbocker has 
become the city's **most all -pervading and descriptive 
name"; and the humorous conception of Dutch character 
and history in the legend has become "as inseparable from 
New York as the form of the island and the encircling 
shores of the bay." In this achievement alone there is 
surety of lasting fame; for the city whose traditions 



32 INTRODUCTION 

Irving- B pen first fashioned and enriched has itself become 
a chief monument to his memory. 

III. BIBLIOGEAPHY 

Irving's works are published in several standard editions 
by Gr. P. Putnam's Sons, New York City. 

The Life and Letters of Washington Irving^ by his 
nephew, Pierre M. Irving, was published in four volumes, 
New York, 1862-64. A new edition, revised and condensed 
int.o three volumes, was published by the Putnams in 1895. 
This Life is of special value because it is the only place in 
which Irving's letters and travelling journal are accessible. 
A shorter life is Charles Dudley Warner's Washington 
Irving, Boston, 1881, in the American Men of Letters 
Series. Mr. Warner also has a briefer sketch prefixed to 
the Geoffrey Crayon Edition of Irving's works; and a 
short study in a separate volume. Work of Washington 
Irving, published by Harpers. There are few critical 
works of importance. Besides the several studies by 
Warner given above and the standard histories of Ameri- 
can literature, the following may be mentioned: George 
William Curtis, in Literary and Social Essays; Edwin 
W. Morse, in the Warner Classics Historians and Essay- 
ists (Doubleday and McClure Company), pp. 143-168; 
and, for a discussion of the national element in Irving, 
Lodge, Studies in History, pp. 344-6. 



!l' 



TABLE OF CHIEF DATES IN IRVING'S LIFE 

L783 Irving born, April 3, in New York. 

1799 Began the study of law. 
jl804-6 Travelled in Europe. 

1806 Admitted to the bar. 
,1807-8 Salmagundi written. 

1809 Knickerbocker's History of New York published. 

1810 Became a partner in the business of his brothers. 
1815 Went to Liverpool. 

1818 Failure in business. 

1819 First number of Sketch Book publishedo 
,1822 Bracebridge Hall published. 

'1824 Tales of a Traveller published. 
j 1826-29 Lived in Spain. 

1828 Life of Columbus published. 

1829 Conquest of Granada published. 

1831 Companions of Columbus published. 

( Alhambra published. ^ 

1832 •% 

( Returned to America. 

1836 Astoria published. 

1837 Adventures of Captain Bonneville published. 
(1842-46 Minister to Spain. 

1849 Life of Oliver Goldsmith and Life of Mahomet publishedc 
1855 Wolferfs Roost published. 
1855-59 Life of Washington published. 
1859 "' Death, November 28, at Sunnyside. 



TO THE READER* 

Worthy and Dear Reader! — Hast thou ever been 
waylaid in the midst of a pleasant tour by some treacherous 
malady ; thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count the 
tedious minutes as they passed, in the solitude of an inn- 
chamber? If thou hast, thou wilt be able to pity me. 
Behold me, interrupted in the course of my journeying up 
the fair banks of the RhinCj and laid up by indisposition 
in this old frontier town of Mentz. I have worn out every 
source of amusement. I know the sound of every clock 
that strikes, and bell that rings, in the place. I know to 
a second when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian 
drum,^ as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what 
hour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian military 
band. All these have grown wearisome to me; and even 
the well-known step of my doctor, as he slowly paces the 
corridor, mth healing in the creak of his shoes, no longer 
affords an agreeable interruption to the monotony of my 
apartment. 

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours by 
studying German under the tuition of mine host's pretty 
little daughter, Katrine; but I soon found even German 
had not power to charm a languid ear, and that the con- 

* Though this introductory chapter, To the Reader, was written at Maina 
(or Mentz) In September of 1822, the greater part of the volume was written 
in Paris during the following winter. 

'^ This was written long before the confederation of the German states 
which, in 1871, united to form the German empire. At this time Mataz, 
which lay in the Grand Duchy of Hesse, was garrisoned by the troops of the 
confederate powers, Prussia and Austria. 

35 



36 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

jugating of ich liehe'^ might be powerless, however rosy the 
lips which uttered it. 

I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I 
turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with 
distaste: "Well, then," said I at length, in despair, *'if I 
cannot read a book, I will write one." Never was there 
a more lucky idea ; it at once gave me occupation and 
amusement. The writing of a book was considered in old 
times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch that 
the most trifling lucubration was denominated a ''work," 
and the world talked with awe and reverence of "the 
labors of the learned." These matters are better under- 
stood nowadays. 

Thanks to the improvements in all kind of manufac- 
tures, the art of book-making has been made familiar to 
the meanest capacity. Everybody is an author. The 
scribbling of a quarto is the mere pastime of the idle ; the 
young gentleman throws off his brace of duodecimos in 
the intervals of the sporting-season, and the young lady 
produces her set of volumes with the same facility that 
her great-grandmother worked a set of chair-bottoms. 

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, 
the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it was 
no difficult matter. I rummaged^ my portfolio, and cast 
about, in my recollection, for those floating materials 
which a man naturally collects in travelling; and here I 
have arranged them in this little work. • 

As I know this to be a story-telling and a story-reading 
age, and that the world is fond of being taught by 
apologue, I have digested the instruction I would convey 

I I love. Katrine, the host's daughter, was not a fiction of Irving's. In 
a letter {Life and Letters, vol. II. of the four volume edition, p. 101) dated 
September 2, 1832, Irving says that he is "having daily lessons in French 
and German from one of the host's daughters, la belle Katrina, a pretty 
girl of sixteen, who has X*"'^'^ educated in a convent." 



TO THE RfeADER 37 

into a number of tales. They may not possess tBie power 
of amusement which the tales told by many of my con- 
temporaries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound 
moral which each of them contains. This may not be 
apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out 
in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle alter- 
atives, not by violent doses; indeed, the patient should 
never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt 
this much from experience under the hands of the worthy 
Hippocrates ^ of Mentz. 

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which carry 
their moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; they 
are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the con- 
trary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and disguised 
it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so that while 
the simple reader is listening with open mouth to a ghost 
or a love story, he may have a bolus of sound morality 
popped down his throat, and be never the wiser for the fraud. 

As the public is apt to be curious about the sources 
whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may 
know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, that 
the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the latter 
part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as 
existing somewhere in French; and, indeed, I have been 
told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has been 
founded on it by an English writer ; but I have never met 
with either the former or the latter in print. Some of the 
circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious Picture, 
and in the Story of the Young Italian, are vague recollec- 
tions of anecdotes related to me some years since; but 
from what source derived, I do not know. The Adven- 
ture of the Young Painter among the banditti is taken 

* A famous Greek physician, standing here as a type of the profession. 



38 , TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

almost entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript. 

As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed 
to my tales generally, I can make but one observation : I 
am an old traveller; I have read somewhat, heard and 
seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled, 
therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In travelling, 
these heterogeneous matters have become shaken up in my 
mind, as the articles are. apt to be in an ill-packed travel- 
ling-trunk; so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, 
1 cannot determine whether I have read, heard, or 
dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how much to 
believe of my own stories. 

These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader, 
with good appetite; and, above all, with good-humor to 
what is here set before thee. If the tales I have furnished 
should prove to be bad,^ they will at least be found short; 
so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme. 
*' Variety is charming," as some poet observes. 

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be 
from bad to worse ! As I have often found in travelling 
in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's 
position, and be bruised in a new place. 

Ever thine, Geoffrey Crayok.^ 

Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
ci-devant Hotel de Paris, 

Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 

» Irving himself thought favorably of the Tales of a Traveller: "Those 
who have seen various parts of what I have prepared [of the Tales of a 
Traveller], think the work will be the best thing I have written, and that it 
will be very successful with the public. An author is not, perhaps, the best 
judge of his productions, otherwise I might throw my own opinion into the 
scale." Life, vol. IL, p. 24. Again, speaking of the same book he says: 
"Some parts of my last work were written rather hastily; yet I am con- 
vinced that a great part of it was written in a free and happier vein than 
almost any of my former writings." — Life, vol. II., p. 51. 

Is Irving serious when he recommends his stories for the moral lessons 
they contain? 



the 



'Under the pen-name "Geoffrey Crayon," Irving had already published 
Sketch Book and Bracebridge Hall. 



PART FIRST 
STEANGE STORIES 

BY 

A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN 

I'll tell you more, there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, 

A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun. 

And letters of mart in'S mouth from the Duke of Florence 

Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony.— I do confess it 

Do you think I'd tell you truths ? 

Fletcher's Wife for a Month 



TALES OF A TEAVELLEE 

THE GKEAT UNKNOWN 

The following adventures were related to me by the 
same nervous gentleman who told me the romantic tale 
of the Stout Gentleman, published in ^'Bracebridge 
Hallo "^ It is very singular, that, although I expressly 
stated that story to have been told to me, and described 
the very person who told it, still it has been received as an 
adventure that happened to myself. Now I protest I 
never met with any adventure of the kind. I should not 
have grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the 
author of *'Waverley," in an introduction to his novel of 
"Peveril of the Peak," that he was himself the stout gen- 
tleman alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by 
questions and letters from gentlemen, and particularly 
from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of 
the Great Unknown. 

Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being 
congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a 
blank ; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the 
public to penetrate the mystery of that very singular per- 
sonage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, with- 
out any one being able to tell whence it comes. 

1 The tale of the Stout Gentleman in Bracehridge Hall is in Irvlng's best 
vein: it should be read in order fully to appreciate the allusions here. The 
author of the Waverley novels, at the time this was written, was still the 
"great unknown." In the preface to the first edition of Peveril of the Peak, 
1822, Scott playfully comments on his own anonymity, mentioning Irving's 
Stout Gentleman in the way described here. It was in a later edition of the 
same novel, 1831, that Scott for the first time formally acknowledged the 
authorship of the Waverley novels. 

41 



42 * TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man 
of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been 
excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in 
his neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage. 
Insomuch, that he has become a character of considerable 
notoriety in two or three country-towns, and has been 
repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking 
parties, for no other reason than that of being "the gen- 
tleman who has had a glimpse of the author of 'Wav- 
erley.'^' 

Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as 
ever since he has discovered, on such good authority, who 
the stout gentleman was ; and will never forgive himself 
for not having made a more resolute effort to get a full 
sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to call up 
a recollection of what he saw of that portly personage ; and 
has ever since kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of more 
than ordinary dimensions, whom he has seen getting into 
stage-coaches. All in vain ! The features he had caught 
a glimpse of seem common to the whole race of stout gen- 
tlemen, and the Great Unknown remains as great an 
unknown as ever. 

Having premised these circumstances, I will now let the 
nervous gentleman proceed with his stories. 



THE HUNTING-DINNER 

I was once at a hunting-dinner, given by a worthy fox- 
hunting old Baronet, who kept bachelor's hall in Jovial style 
in an ancient rook-haunted family-mansion, in one of the 
middle counties. He had been a devoted admirer of the 



THE HUNTING DINNER 43 

fair sex in his younger days; but, having travelled much, 
studied the sex in various countries with distinguished 
success, and returned home profoundly instructed, as he 
supposed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of 
the art of pleasing, had the mortification of being jilted 
by a little boarding-school girl, Avho was scarcely versed in 
the accidence of love. 

The Baronet was complete!}^ overcome by such an 
incredible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust ; put 
himself under the government of his housekeeper; and 
took to fox-hunting like a perfect Nimrod. Whatever 
poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow out of 
love as he grows old; and a pack of fox-hounds may chase 
out of his heart even the memory of a boarding-school 
goddess. The Baronet was, when I sa^ him, as merry 
and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound; and. 
the love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself 
over the whole sex, so that there was not a pretty face in 
the whole country round but came in for a share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host 
having no ladies in his household to summon us to the 
drawing-room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor 
sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy, the tea-kettle. The 
old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of robustious 
fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers 
shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the wine and 
the wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies 
already a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits 
which flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled 
for a time, then gradually went out one after another, or 
only emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. 
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so 
bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep; and none kept 



44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers, 
who, like short-legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the 
bottom of conversation, but. are sure to be in at the death. 
Even these at length subsided into silence ; and scarcely 
anything was heard but the nasal communications of two 
or three veteran masticators, who having been silent while 
awake, were indemnifying the company in their sleep. 

At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the 
cedar-parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. 
Every one awoke marvellously renovated, and while sip- 
ping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet's old- 
fashioned hereditary china, began to think of departing 
for their several homes. But here a sudden difficulty 
arose. While we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy 
winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, 
driven by such bitter blasts of wind, that they threatened 
to penetrate to the very bone. 

^'It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think 
of putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, 
gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, 
and will have your quarters prepared accordingly." 

The unruly weather, which became more and more 
tempestuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unanswer- 
able. The only question was, whether such an unexpected 
accession of company to an already crowded house would 
not put the housekeeper to her trumps to accommodate 
them. 

"Pshaw," cried mine host; "did you ever know a 
bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to accom- 
modate twice as many as it could hold?" So, out of a 
good-humored pique, the housekeeper was summoned to 
a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared in her 
gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and 



THE HUNTING DINNER 45 

agitation; for, in spite of our host's bravado, slie was a 
little perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with 
bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. 
There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish 
points about lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners, 
and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment. A 
bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emergen^ 
cies; so, after much worrying to and fro, and divers con- 
sultations about the red-room, and the blue-room, and 
the chintz-room, and the damask-room, and the little 
room with the bow-window, the matter was finally 
arranged. 

When all this was done, we were once more summoned 
to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time 
that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the 
refreshment and consultation of the cedar-parlor, was 
sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to 
engender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight 
repast had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue of 
dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed vem*- 
son, a devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of 
those light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure 
sound sleep and heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's 
wit; and a great deal of excellent humor was expended 
upon the perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper, 
by certain married gentlemen of the company, who con- 
sidered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's 
establishment. From this the banter turned as to what 
quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted 
in so antiquated a mansion. \ 

*'By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of 
the most merry and boisterous of the party, "by my soul. 



46 TAI^ES OF A TRAVELLER 

but I should not be surprised if some of those good-look- 
ing gentlefolks that hang along the walls should walk about 
the rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find the 
ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies turning into my 
bed in mistake for her' grave in the churchyard." 

"Do you beliere in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet- 
faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. 

I had remarked this last personage during dinner-time 
for one of those incessant questioners, who have a crav- 
ing, unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed 
satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when 
others laughed; but always put the joke to the question. 
He never could enjoy the kernel of the iiut, but pestered 
himself to get more out of the shell. "Do you believe in 
ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. "I 
was brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had a 
Benshee in our own family, honey." 

"A Benshee, and what's that?" cried the questioner. 

"Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon- your real 
Milesian families, and waits at their window to let them 
know when some of them are to die." 

"A mighty pleasant piece of information!" cried an 
elderly gentleman with a knowing look, and with a flexible 
nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when he 
wished to be waggish. 

"By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of 
distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof 
that one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, now 
we are talking of ghosts, there never was a house or a 
night better fitted than the present for a ghost adven- 
ture. Pray, Sir John, haven't you such a thing as a 
haunted chamber to put a guest in?" 



THE HUNTING DINNER 47 

'^Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might accom- 
modate you even on that point. " 

'*0h, I should like it of 'all things, my jewel. Some 
dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone portraits, that 
stare dismally at one ; and about which the housekeeper 
has a power of delightful stories of love and murder. 
And then a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across 
it, and a spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains 
at midnight" — 

^'In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the 
table, *'you put me in mind of an anecdote" — 

"Oh, a ghost-story! a ghost-story!" was vociferated 
round the board, every one edging his chair a little nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now turned upon 
the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose 
face was no match for the other. The eye-lid drooped 
and hung dowii like an unhinged window-shutter. Indeed, 
the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like 
the wing of a house shut up and haunted. I'll warrant 
that side was well stuffed witl\ ghost- stories. 

There was a universal demand for the tale. 

**Nay," said the old gentleman, "it's a mere anecdote, 
and a very commonplace one ; but such as it is you shall 
have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as 
having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to 
meet with strange adventures. I have. heard him tell of 
others much more singular. " 

"What kind of a man was your uncle?" said the ques- 
tioning gentleman. 

"Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a 
great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures." 

*'Pray, how old might he have been when that hap- 
pened?" 



4:8 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

"When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the 
flexible nose, impatiently. "Egad, yon have not given 
anything a chance to happen. Oome, never mind our 
uncle's age; let us have his adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, 
the old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 

Many years since, some time before the French Revolu- 
tion, my uncle passed several months at Paris. The Eng- 
lish and French were on better terms in those days than 
at present, and mingled cordially in society. The English 
went abroad to spend money then, and the French were 
always ready to help them : they go abroad to save money 
at present, and that they can do without French assist- 
ance. Perhaps the travelling English were fewer and 
choicer than at present, when the whole nation has broke 
loose and inundated the continent. At any rate, they 
circulated more readily and currently in foreign society, 
and my uncle, during his residence in Paris, made many 
very intimate acquaintances among the French noblesse. 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in the 
winter-time in that part of Normandy called the Pays de 
Caux, when, as evening was closing in, he perceived the 
turrets of an ancient chateau rising out of the trees of its 
walled park; each turret with its high conical roof of gray 
slate, like a candle with an extinguisher on it. 

"To whom does that chateau belong, friend?" cried my 
uncle t(5 a meagre but fiery postilion, who, with tremendous 
jack-boots and cocked hat, was floundering on before him. 

*'To Monseigneur the Marquis de ," said the pos- 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 49 

tilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my 
uncle, and partly out of reverence to the noble name pro- 
nounced. 

My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular friend 
in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see him at his 
paternal chateau. My uncle was an old traveller, one 
who knew well how to turn things to account. He., 
revolved for a few moments in his mind, how agreeable it 
would be to his friend the Marquis to be surprised in this 
sociable way by a pop visit ; and how much more agreeable 
to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, and 
have a relish of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a 
smack of his superior Champagne and Burgundy, rather 
than put up with the miserable lodgment and miserable 
fare of a provincial inn. In a few minutes, therefore, the 
meagre postilion was cracking his whip, like a very devil, 
or like a true Frenchman, up the long, straight avenue 
that led to the chateau. 

You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as every- 
body travels in France nowadays. This was one of the 
oldest; standing naked and alone in the midst of a 
desert of gravel walks and cold stone terraces; with a 
cold-looking, formal garden, cut into angles and rhom- 
boids; and a cold, leafless park, divided geometrically by 
straight alleys; and two or three cold-looking noseless 
statues; and fountains spouting cold water enough to 
make one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feeling 
they imparted on the wintry day of my uncle's visit; 
though, in hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was 
glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 

The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more 
and more intense the nearer they approached, frightened 
a flight of pigeons out of a dove-cot, and rooks out of the 



50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the chateau, 
with the Marquis at their head. He was enchanted to see 
my uncle, for his chateau, like the house of our worthy 
host, had not many more guests at the time than it could 
accommodate. So he kissed my uncle on each cheek, 
after the French fashion, and ushered him into the castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of the house with the 
urbanity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his old 
family chateau, for part of it was extremely old. There 
was a tower and. chapel which had been built almost before 
the memory of man; but the rest was more modern, the 
castle having been nearly demolished during the wars of 
the league.^ The Marquis dwelt upon this event with 
great satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a grate- 
ful feeling towards Henry the Fourth, for having thought 
his paternal mansion worth battering down. He had 
many stories to tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and 
several skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers 
huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, which had been worn 
by the leaguers. Above all, there was a two-handed 
sword, which he could hardly wield, but which he dis- 
played, as a proof that there had been giants in his 
family. 

In truth, he was bui a small descendant from such great 
warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages and 
brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then at 
the little Marquis, with his spindle shanks, and his sallow 
lantern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered ear-locks, 
or ailes de pigeon ^^ that seemed ready to fly away with it, 
you could hardly believe him to be of the same race. But 

1 The Holy League was a CathoUc alliance formed in 1576 for the pTiri)os9 
of excluding Huguenot princes from the throne of France. Henry IV. was 
a Huguenot. 

2 Pigeon-wings, 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 51 

when you looked at the eyes that sparkled out like a 
beetle's from each side of his hooked nose, you saw at once 
that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In 
fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his body 
may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more inflam- 
mable, as the earthly particles diminish ; and I have seen 
valor enough in a little fiery-hearted French dwarf to have 
furnished out a tolerable giant. 

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one of 
the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head 
no more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes 
flashed from the bottom of the iron cavern with the bril- 
liancy of carbuncles; and when he poised the ponderous 
two-handed sword of his ancestors, you would have thought 
you saw the doughty little David wielding the sword of 
Goliath, which was unto him like a weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this 
description of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must 
excuse me; he was an old friend of my uncle; and when- 
ever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talk- 
ing a great deal about his host. — Poor little Marquis! He 
was one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made such 
a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their sover- 
eign, in the chateau of the Tuileries, against the irruption 
of the mob on the sad tenth of August.^ He displayed 
the valor of a preux ^ French chevalier to the last ; flourish- 
ing feebly his little court-sword with a ^a-^al^ in face of a 
whole legion of sans-ciilottes^\ but was pinned to the wall 

» The tenth of August, 1792, was the date of the taking of the palace of 
the TuUeries in Paris by the revolutionists. 

2 Bold. 

3 An inter jection meaning, " Come on ! " 

< Literally, "without breeches," a term applied to the extreme revolu- 
tionists, probably because they wore long trousers and looked ui)on knee 
breeches as the distinctive dress of the aristocracy. 



52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

like a butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde,^ and his heroic 
soul was borne up to heaven on his atles de pigeon. 

But all this has nothing to do with my story. To the 
point, then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the 
night, my uncle was shown to his room in a venerable old 
tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in 
ancient times been the donjon or strong-hold; of course 
the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put 
him there, however, because he knew him to be a traveller 
of taste, and fond of antiquities; and also because the bet- 
ter apartments were already occupied. Indeed, he per- 
fectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mentioning 
the great personages who had once inhabited them, all of 
whom were, in some way or other, connected with the 
family. If you would take his word for it, John Baliol,^ 
or as he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin 
in this very chamber, on hearing of the success of his 
rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle of Bannockburn. 
And when he added that the Duke de Guise had slept in 
it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on being honored 
with such distinguished quarters. 

The night was shrewd and windy, and the chamber none 
of the warmest. An old, long-faced, long-bodied servant, 
in quaint livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down 
an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look 
about the room, and then wished him bon repos^ with a 
grimace and a shrug that would have been suspicious from 
any other than an old French servant. 

1 A fish-woinan, a woman of the lowest class; readers of Dickens's Tah 
of 7'wo Cities will recall the part which women took in the French Revo- 
lution. 

2 John Baliol and Robert Bruce were rival claimants of the throne of 
Scotland. The Duke of Guise here referred to was probably Henry (1550- 
1588), head of the Holy League. 

3 Good-night. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 53 

•The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to 
strike any one who had read romances with apprehension 
and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, and 
had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as 
well as the extreme thickness of the walls would permit ; 
and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. You 
would have thought, on a windy night, some of the old 
leaguers were tramping and clanking about the apartment 
in their huge boots and rattling spurs. A door which 
stood ajar, and, like a true French door, would stand ajar 
in spite of every reason and effort to the contrary, opened 
upon a long dark corridor, that led the Lord knows 
whither, and seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves 
in, when they turned out of their graves at midrtight. 
The wind would spring up into a hoarse murmur through 
this passage, and creak the door to and fro, as if some 
dubious ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come 
in or not. In a word, it was precisely the kind of com- 
fortless apartment that a ghost, if ghost there were in the 
chateau, would single out for its favorite lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet 
with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. 
He made several attempts to *shut the door, but in vain. 
Not that he apprehended anything, for he was too old a 
traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment; but 
the night, as I ha ^e said, was cold and gusty, and the wind 
howled about the old turret pretty much as it does round 
this old mansion at this moment, and the breeze from the 
long dark corridor came in as damp and as chilly as if from 
a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could not close 
the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon 
sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed chimney that 
illumined the whole chamber ; and made the shadow of 



i 



54 TALES OF A TRAVELLER . 

4 

the tongs on the opposite wall look like a long-legged 
giant. My uncle now clamhered on the top of the half- 
score of mattresses which form a French bed, and which 
stood in a deep recess ; then tucking himself snugly in, 
and burying himself up to the chin in the bedclothes, he 
lay looking at the fire, and listening .to the wind, and 
thinking how knowingly he had come over his friend the 
Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he fell asleep. 

He bad not taken above half of his first nap when he was 
awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret over 
his chamber, which struck midright. It was just such 
an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, dismal 
tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my uncle 
thought it would never have done. He counted and 
counted till he was confident he counted thirteen, and 
then it stopped. 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last fagot 
was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which 
now and then lengthened up into little white gleams. My 
uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap 
drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already 
wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with 
the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coliseum 
at Rome, Dolly's chop-house ^ in London, and all the far- 
rago of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is 
crammed, — in a word, he was just falling asleep. 

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, 
slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have 
often heard him say himself, was a man not easily fright- 
ened. So he lay quiet, supposing this some other guest, 
or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, how- 

» A famous London eating-house near Paternoster Row. It was torn 
down in 1883. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 55 

ever, approached the door; the door gently opened; 
whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my 
uncle could not distinguish: a figure all in white glided 
in„ It was a female, tall and stately, and of a command- 
ing air„ Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in 
volume, and sweeping the floor. She walked up to the 
fireplace, without regarding my uncle, who raised his 
nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. She 
remained for some time standing by the fire, which, flash- 
ing up at intervals, cast blue and white gleams of light, 
that enabled my uncle to remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still 
more so by the bluish light of the fire. It possessed 
beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. 
There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of 
one whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue; for 
there was still the predominating air of proud, unconquer- 
able resolution. Such at least was the opinion formed by 
my uncle, and he considered himself a great physiognomist. 

The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the 
fire, putting out first one hand, then the other ; then each 
foot alternately, as if warming itself ; for your ghosts, if 
ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My uncle, further- 
more, remarked that it wore high -heeled shoes, after an 
ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, that 
sparkled as though they were alive. At length the figure 
turned gently round, casting a glassy look about the apart- 
ment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made his blood 
run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones. It 
then stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its hands, 
and wringing them in a supplicating manner, glided slowly 
out of the room. ; k 

" My uncle lay for some t^ime medicating on tliis^ visita^ 



56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

tion, for (as he remarked when he told me the story) 
though a man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection, 
and did not reject a thing because it was out of the regular 
course of events. However, being as I have before said, a 
great traveller, and accustomed to strange adventures, he 
drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back 
to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high over his shoul- 
ders, and gradually fell asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awak- 
ened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned 
round, and beheld the old French servant, with his ear- 
locks in tight buckles on each side of a long lantern face, 
on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. 
He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thousand par- 
dons for disturbing Monsieur, but the morning was con- 
siderably advanced. While my uncle was dressing, he 
called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. 
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit 
of rambling about this part of the chateau afc night. The 
old valet shrugged his shoulders as high ^ his head, laid 
one hand on his bosom, threw open the other with every 
finger extended, made a most whimsical grimace which he 
meant to be complimentary, and replied, that it was not 
for him to know anything of les bonnes fortunes^ of 
Monsieur. 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be 
learned in this quarter. After breakfast, he was walking 
with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the 
chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken saloons, 
amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until they 
came to a long picture-gallery, containing many portraits, 
some in oil and some in chalks. 

J The good luck. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 57 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, 
who had all the pride of a nobleman of the micien regime.^ 
There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one 
in France, which was not, in some way or other, connected 
with his house. My uncle stood listening with inward 
impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on 
the other, as the little Marquis descanted, with his usual 
fire and vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors, 
whose portraits hung along the wall; from the martial 
deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and 
intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair smiling 
faces, powdered ear-locks, laced rufiles, and pink and blue 
silk coats and breeches ; — not forgetting the conquests of 
the lovely shepherdesses, with hooped petticoats, and 
waists no thicker than an hour-glass, who appeared ruling 
over their sheep and their swains, with dainty crooks dec- 
orated with fluttering ribbons. 

In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle was 
startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very coun- 
terpart of his visitor of the preceding night. 

*'Methinks," said he, pointing to it, *'I have seen the 
original of this portrait." 

*'Pardonnez moi,"^ replied the Marquis politely, "that 
can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hun- 
dred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longue- 
ville, who figured during the minority of Louis the 
Fourteenth." 
' **And was there anything remarkable in her , history?" 

Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis 
immediately threw himself into the attitude of a man 
about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled 

* The old system, i.e. before the French Revolution. 

* Pardon me. 



58 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

upon himself the whole history of the eivil war of the 
Fronde, ^ in which the beautiful Duchess had played so 
distinguished a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were 
called up from their graves to grace his narration; nor 
were the affairs of the Barricades, nor the chivalry of the 
portes-cocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish him- 
self a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his merci- 
less memory, when suddenly the little man's recollections 
took a more, interesting turn. He was relating the 
imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville with the Princes 
Conde- and Conti in the chateau of Vincennes, and the 
ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the sturdy Nor- 
mans to their rescue. He had come to that part where 
she was invested by the royal forces in the Castle of 
Dieppe. 

"The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, 
**rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so deli- 
cate and beautiful a thing buffet so resolutely with hard- 
ships. She determined on a desperate means of escape. 
You may have seen the chateau in which she was mewed 
up* — an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the 
knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town of 
Dieppe. One dark unruly night she issued secretly out of 
a small postern gate of the castle, which the enemy had 
neglected to guard. The postern gate is there to this very 
day; opening upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse 
between the castle and the brow of the hill. She was fol- 
owed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and some 
gallant cavaliers, who still remained faithful to her for- 

,1 The civil war of the Fi'onde in France lasted from 1648 to 1652. Turenne 
and Coligni were military leaders in this war; Mazarin was a cardinal and 
minister of state. The "affairs of the Barricades" was an episode of the 
war, in Paris, August 26, 1648; the "chivalry of the portes-cocheres " was a 
mounted force raised by compelling every porte-cochere, i.e. every house 
with a special carriage entrance, to furnish a horse and a man. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 59 

tunes. Her object was to gain a small port about two 
leagues distant, where she had privately provided a vessel 
for her escape in case of emergency. 

"The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform 
the distance on foot. When they arrived at the port the 
wind was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel 
anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on 
board but by a fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a 
cockle-shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess deter- 
mined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeavored to 
dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore, 
and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. She 
had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. 
Such was the violence of the wind and waves that he fal- 
tered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall 
into the sea. 

"The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through 
her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, 
she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered 
strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The 
storm, however, had by this time, become so violent as to 
set all efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discovered 
and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she pro- 
cured horses, mounted with her female attendants, e7i 
croupe^ ^ behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied 
her, and scoured the country to seek some temporary 
asylum. 

"While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying 
his forefinger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging 
attention — "while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering 
amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived 
at this chateau. Her approach caused some uneasiness; 

> Rid* 4g JouDJie, uiie t)ehind the saddle. 



60 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of night up 
the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, 
and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to 
occasion alarm. 

"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, 
galloped ahead and announced the name of the visitor. 
All uneasiness was dispelled. The household turned out 
with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam 
on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came 
tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn faces, such 
bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females 
presented, each seated behind her cavalier : while the half- 
drenched, ha]f-drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready 
to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue. 

"The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by 
my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the 
chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer 
herself and her train ; and every spit and stew-pan was put 
in requisition to prepare ample refreshment for the way- 
farers. 

*'She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the 
Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of 
stateliness, **for she was related to our family. I'll tell 
you how it was. Her father, Henri de Bourbon, Prince 
of Conde" 

"But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?" 
said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of get- 
ting involved in one of the Marquis's genealogical discus- 
sions. 

"Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very 
apartment you occupied last night, which at that time was 
a kind of state-apartment. Her followers were quartered 
in the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 61 

and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up 
and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had 
announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel 
or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow ; 
and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his 
deeply marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of 
defending the castle with his single arm. 

"It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the year 
— apropos ! — now I think of it, last night was the anniver- 
sary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, 
for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There 
is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." Here 
the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather 
about his bushy eyebrows. '* There is a tradition — that a 
strange occurrence took place that night. — A strange j 
mysterious, inexplicable occurrence." — Here he checked 
himself, and paused. 

''Did it relate to that lady?" inquired my uncle, eagerly. 

"It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Mar- 
quis, — "when the whole chateau" Here he paused 

again, v My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. 

"Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streak- 
ing his sallow visage. "There are some circumstances 
connected with our family history which I do not like to 
relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes 
among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs 
wrong, will not run tamely, like the blood of the canaiMe ^ 
— poor lady! — But I have a little family pride, that — 
excuse me — we will change the subject if you please" — 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and 

magnificent introduction had led him to expect something 

wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of 

Babble. " ~" 



^2 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a 
sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being 
a traveller in quest of information, he considered it his 
duty to inquire into everything. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 

^'Well," said my uncle a little petulantly, ** whatever 
you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with sur- 
prise. 

**She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." 

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and 
smile ; taking this no doubt for an awkward piece of Eng- 
lish pleasantry, which politeness required him to be 
charmed with. 

My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the 
whole circumstance. The M.arquis heard him through 
with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened 
in his hand. When the story Avas finished, he tapped on 
the lid of his box deliberately, took a long, sonorous pinch 

of snuff 

, "Bah !" said the Marquis, and walked towards the other 
end of the gallery. 

Here the narrator paused. The company waited for 
some time for him to resume his narration ; but he con- 
tinued silent. 

*'Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, — "and what 
^id your uncle say then?" 

"Nothing," replied the other. 

"And what did the Marquis say farther?" 

"IS^thing." 

.llcUs that all?" 

"That is^jiU," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 63 

**I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the 
waggish nose, — **I surmise the ghost must have been the 
old housekeeper, walking her rounds to see that all was 
right." 

*'Bah!" said the narrator. '*'My uncle was too much 
accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a 
housekeeper." 

There was a murmur round the table, half of merri- 
ment, half of disappointment. I was inclined to think 
the old gentleman had really an after -part of his story in 
reserve; but he sipped his wine and said nothing more; 
and there was an odd expression about his dilapidated 
countenance which left me in doubt whether he were in 
drollery or earnest. / 

*'Egad," said the knowing gentleman, with the flexible 
nose, ^*this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one 
that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's 
side; though I don't know that it will bear a comparison, 
as the good lady was not so prone to meet with strange 
adventures. But any rate you shall have it. " * 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 

My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and 
great resolution : she was what might be termed a very 
manly woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, 
very meek and acquiescent, and no match for my aunt. 
It was observed that he dwindled and dwindled gradually 
away, from the day of his marriage. His wife's powerful 
i^iind was too much for him; it wore him out. My aunt, 

* Is the reader's expectation really disappointed in the conclusion of this 
story? 



64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

however, took all possible care of him; had half the doc- 
tors in town to prescribe for him; made him take all their 
prescriptions, and dosed him with physic enough to cure a 
whole hospital. All was in vain. My uncle grew worse 
and worse the more dosing and nursing he underwent, 
until in the end he added another to the long list of matri- 
monial victims who ,have been killed with kindness. 

"And was it his ghost that appeared to her?" asked the 
inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former 
story-teller. 

"You shall hear," replied the narrator. — My aunt took 
on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. 
Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him 
so much physic, and nursed him into the grave. At any 
rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his 
memory. She spared no expense in either the quantity 
or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature of 
him about her neck as large as a little sun-dial, and had a 
iuU length portrait of him always hanging in her bed- 
chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the 
skies ; and it was determined that a woman who behaved 
so well to the memory of one husband deserved soon to 
get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take up her 
residence in an old country-seat in Derbyshire, which had 
long been in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. 
She took most of her servants with her, intending to make 
it her principal abode. The house stood in a lonely wild 
part of the country, among the gray Derbyshire hills, with a 
murderer hanging in chains on a bleak height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened out of 
their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan- 
looking place; especially when they got together in the 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 35 

servant's hall in the evening, and compared notes on all 
the hobgoblin stories picked up in the course of the day. 
They were afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, black- 
looking chambers. My lady's maid, who/ was troubled 
with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone in such a- 
''gashly rummaging old building" ^; and the footman, who 
was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power to 
cheer her up. 

My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the. 
house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined 
well the fastnesses of the doors and windows; locked up. 
the plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, 
together with a little box of money and jewels, to her own 
room; for she was a notable woman, and always sjaw to all 
things herself. Having put the keys under her pillow,, 
and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet, arranging: 
her hair; for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, 
rather a buxom widow, she was somewhat particular about 
her person. She sat for a little while looking at her face* 
in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, as ladies 
are apt to do when they would ascertain Avhether they have 
been in good looks ; for a roistering country squire of the 
neighborhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had 
called that day to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move- 
behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was 
nothing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted por- 
trait of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall. 

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accus- 
tomed to do whenever she spoke of him in company, and 
then went on adjusting her night-dress^ and thinking of 
the squire. Her sigh was reechoed, or answered, by a 

- Does she mean "ghastly rmnous old building?" 



m TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one 
was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind 
oozing through the rat-holes of the old mansion, and pro- 
ceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, wh0h, all at 
once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the 
portrait move. 

"The back of her head being towards it!" said the 
story-teller with the ruined head, — "good!" 

"Yes, sir!" replied dryly the narrator, "her back being 
towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection in 
the glass." — Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of 
the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circumstance, 
as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To 
assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her fore- 
head as if rubbing it; peeped through her fingers, and 
moved the candle with the other hand. Tlie light of the 
taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She 
was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a 
wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to do 
when living! It struck a momentary chill to her heart; 
for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfully situ- 
ated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost 
as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the 
old story-teller,) became instantly calm and collected. 
She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an 
air, and did not make even a single false note. She casu- 
ally overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and picked 
up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a roll- 
ing pin-cushion that was making the best of its way under 
the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into 
the corridor, as if in doubt whether to go; and then 
walked quietly out. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 67 

She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to arm 
themselves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself 
at their head, and returned almost immediately. 

Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force. 
The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a 
loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse-pistols, the cook 
a huge chopping-knife, and the butler a bottle in each 
hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in 
my opinion she was the most formidable of the party. 
The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the serv- 
ant's hall, brought up the rear, smelling to a brokeii bot- 
tle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the 
ghostesses. **Grhosts!" said my aunt, resolutely. "I'll 
singe their whiskers for them!" 

They entered the chamber. All was still and undis- 
turbed as when she had left it. They approached the 
portrait of my uncle. 

*'Pull down that picture!" cried my aunt. A heavy 
groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued 
from the portrait. The servants shrunk back ; the maid 
uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman for sup- 
port. 

"Instantly!" added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind 
it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth 
a .--^-shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as 
long as my a,xm, but trembling all over like an aspen-leaf. 

"Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose," said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

"A Knight of the Post,"^ replied the narrator, "who 
had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; 

J In general, a rogue; perhaps more specifically, a highwayman. See 
trving's use of the phrase in "The Poor Devil Author," la. 174. 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into hei 
chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, 
when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms," 
continued he, "the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the 
neighborhood, who had once been a servant in the house, 
and had been employed to assist in arranging it for the 
reception of its mistress. He confessed that he had con- 
trived this hiding-place for his nefarious purpose, and had . 
borrowed an eye from the portrait by way of -a reconnoi- 
tring-hole." 

*'And what did they do with him? — did they hang 
him?" resumed the questioner. 

*'Hang him! — how could they?" exclaimed a beetle- 
browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. "The offence was 
not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. 
No forcible entry or breaking into the premises" — • 

"My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit, 
and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her 
own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be 
drawn through the horse-pond, to cleanse away all offences, 
and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken towef." 

"And what became of him afterwards?" said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

"I do- not exactly know. I^ believe he was sent on a 
voyage of improvement to Botany Bay."^ 

"And your aunt," said the inquisitive gentlpTn^"*- ' ^ A 
warrant she took care to make her maid sleep m the room 
with her after that." 

"No, sir, she did better; she gave her hand shortly 
after to the roistering squire; for she used to observe, 
that it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in 
the country." 

1 Formerly a British x)enal colony in Australia. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 69 

"She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman, 
nodding sagaciously; "but I am sorry they did not hang 
that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had 
brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, 
though a country clergyman present regretted that the 
uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had 
not been married together; they certainly would have 
been well matched. 

"But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentle- 
man, "that there was any ghost in this last story." 

"Oh! If it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish 
Captain of Dragoons, "if it's ghosts you want, you shall 
have a whole regiment of them. And since these gentle- 
men have given the adventures of their uncles and aunts, 
faith, and I'll even give you a chapter out of my own 
family-history." 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 

OR, THE ADYEI^TURE OF MY GRANDFATHER 

My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profes- 
sion, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my fore- 
fathers have been dragoons, and died on 'the field of 
honor, except myself, and I hope my posterity may be 
able to say the same; however, I don't mean to be 
vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, was a 
bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Countries.^ In 
fact, he was one of that very army, which, according to 
my uncle Toby,^ swore so terribly in Flanders. He could 

^ The Netherlands. 

2 One of the principal characters in Sterne's novel Tristram Shandy. 
Corporal Trim is Uncle Toby's servant. See the novel. Book V, Chap. 35 ff. 



70 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

swear a good stick himself ; and moreover was the very 
man that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions 
of radical heat and radical moisture, or, in other words, 
the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch-water by 
burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing to the 
purport of my story. I only .tell it to show you that my 
grandfather was a man not easily to be humbugged., He 
had seen service, or, according to his own phrase, he had 
seen the devil — and that's saying everything. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to Eng- 
land, for which he intended to embark from Ostend — bad 
luck to the place ! for one where I was kept by storms and 
head-winds for three long days, and the devil of a jolly 
companion or pretty girl to comfort me. Well, as I was 
saying, my grandfather was on his way to England, or 
rather to Ostend — no matterwhich, it's all the same. So 
one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily into 
Bruges. — Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen; a 
queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, once, they say, a great 
place for trade and money-making in old times, when the 
Mynheers^ were in their glory ; but almost as large and as 
empty as an Irishman's pocket at the present day. — Well, 
gentlemen, it was at the time of the annual fair. All 
Bruges was crowded; and the canals swarmed with Dutch 
boats, and the streets swarmed with Dutch merchants; 
and there was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, 
and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and 
women in half a score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his eas}^ slashing 
way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow — starjng about 
him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gable 



iThe Dutch equivalent of "Mr' Here used loosely for "prosperous 
Ijui'ghers. " 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 71 

ends to the street, and storks' nests in the chimneys; 
winking at the juffrouws^ who showed their faces at the 
windows, and joking the women right and left in the 
street; all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good 
part; for though he did not know a word of the language, 
yet he had always a knack of making himself understood 
among the women. 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, 
ail the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and 
my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other for 
admittance. At length he rode up to an old rickety inn, 
that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats- 
would have run away from, if they could have found room 
in any other house to put their heads. It was just such a 
queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall 
roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets, 
one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. 
Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's 
nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a 
house in the Low Countries; and at the very time of my 
grandfather's arrival, there were two of these long-legged 
birds of grace standing like ghosts on the chimney-top. 
Faith, but they've kept the house oii its legs to this very 
day, for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, 
as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a brewery of 
strong Flemish beer, — at Icjast it was so when I came that 
way after the battle of Waterloo. 

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he 
approached. It might not have altogether struck his 
fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the door, 

HIER VERKOOPT MAIf GOEDEIf DRAJs^K ^ 

My grandfather had learnt euous^h of the language to 

1 Young women. 

2 Yoii get good liquor here. 



72 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

kno^ -eiiat the sign promised good liquor. *'This is the 
house for me," said he, stopping short before the door. 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an 
event in an old inn frequented only by the peaceful sons 
of traffic. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately ample 
man in a broad Flemish hat, and who was the great man 
and great patron of the establishment, sat smoking a clean 
long pipe on one side of the door; a fat little distiller of 
Oeneva,^ from Schiedam, sat smoking on the other; and 
the bottle-nosed host stood in the door, and the comely 
hostess, in crimped cap, beside him; and the hostess's 
daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pen- 
dants in her ears, was at a side-window. 

*' Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a 
sulky glance at the stranger. 

"De duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of Schie- 
dam. 

The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a publican, 
that the new guest was not at all to the taste of the old 
ones; and, to tell the truth, he did not like my grand- 
father's saucy eye. He shook his head. '*!N"ot a garret 
in the house but was full." 

*'Not a garret!" echoed the landlady. 

*'Not a garret!" echoed the daughter. 

The burgher of Antwerp, and the little distiller of 
Schiedam, continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyeing 
the enemy askance from under their broad hats, but said 
nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He 
threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on 
one side, stuck one arm akimbo, — * 'Faith and troth!" said 
he, **but I'll sleep in this house this very night." — As he 

> Gin ; Schiedam was famous for its gin distilleries. 



' THE BOLD DRAGOON 73 

said this lie gave a slap on his thigh, by way of emphasis 
— the slap went to the landlady's heart. ^ 

He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and 
making his way past the staring Mynheers into the public 
I'oom. — Maybe you've been in the bar-room of an old 
Flemish inn — faith, but a handsome chamber it was as 
you'd wish to see; with a brick floor, and a great fire- 
place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles, and 
then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head foremost out of 
the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked tea-pots and 
earthen jugs paraded on it; not to mention half a dozen 
great Delft platters, hung about the room by way of pic- 
tures ; and the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing 
bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and yellow 
ear-drops. 

My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he 
cast an eye round the room, — "Faith, this is the very 
house I've been looking after," said he. 

There was some further show of resistance on the part 
of the garrison ; but my grandfather was an old soldier, 
and an Irishman to boot, and iiot easily repulsed, espe- 
cially after he had got into the fortress. So he blarneyed 
the landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, tickled the land- 
lord's daughter, chucked the bar-maid under the chin; 
and it was agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand 
pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to turn such 
a bold dragoon into the streets. So they laid their heads 
together, that is to say, my grandfather aad the landlady, 
and it was at length agreed to accommodate' him with an 
old chamber that had been for some time shut up. 

**Some say it's haunted," whispered the landlord's 
daughter; "but you area bold dragoon, and I dare say 
don't fear ghosts." 



H TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

^'The devil a bit!" said my grandfather, pinching her 
plump cheek. *'Biit if I should be troubled by ghosts, 
I've been to the Red Sea^ in my time, and have a pleasant 
way of laying them, my darling." 

And then he whispered something to the girl which^ 
made her laugh, and give him a good-humored box qn the 
ear. In short, there was nobody knew better how to make 
his way among the petticoats than my grandfather. 

In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete 
possession of the house, swaggering all over it; into the 
stable to look after his horse, into the kitchen to look after 
his supper. He had something to say or do with every 
one; smoked with the Dutchmen, drank with the Ger- 
mans, slapped the landlord on the shoulder, romped with 
his daughter and the bar-maid : — never, since the days of 
Alley Croaker,^ had such a rattling blade been seen. The 
landlord stared at him with astonishment ; the landlord's 
daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came 
near; and as he swaggered along the corridor, with his 
sword trailing by his side, the maids looked after him, and 
whispered to one another, *'What a proper ^ mani" 

At supper, my grandfather took command of the table 
d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped everybody, 
not forgetting himself; talked with every one, whether he 
understood their language or not ; and made his way into 
the intimacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had 
never been known to be sociable with any one during his 
life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole establishment, 

i"The Red Sea is the reputed resting place of exorcised spirits." The 
Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells of England, by R. C. Hope, F. R. S. L., p. 
Sixiii. 

2 The allusion is to an English ballad in which "Alley Croaker," an Irish 
girl, is very vigorously wooed by her lover. See Tales of a Traveller, ed. 
Brander Matthews and G. R. Carpenter, p. 41. 

3 In the Elizabethan sense, " handsome." 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 75 

and gave it such a rouse, that the very house reeled with 
it. He outsat every one at table, excepting the little fat 
distiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time before 
he broke forth; but when he did, he was a very devil 
incarnate. He took a violent affection for my grand- 
father; so they sat drinking and smoking, and telling 
stories, and singing Dutch and Irish songs, without under- 
standing a word each other said, until the little Hollander 
was fairly swamped with his own gin and water, and 
carried off to bed, whooping and hickuping, and trolling 
the burden of a Low Dutch love-song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his 
quarters up a large staircase, composed of loads of hewn 
timber; and through long rigmarole passages, hung with 
blackened paintings of fish, and fruit, and game, and 
country frolics, and huge kitchens, and portly burgo- 
masters, such as you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, 
till at length he arrived at his room. 

An old-tim-^ chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded 
with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary 
for decayed and superannuated furniture, where every- 
thing diseased or disabled was sent to nurse or to be for- 
gotten. Or rather it might be taken for a general 
congress of old Jegitimate movables, where every kind and 
country had a representative. No two chairs were alike. 
Such high backs and low backs, and leather bottoms, and 
worsted bottoms, and straw bottonis, and no bottoms; and 
cracked marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding 
balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at 
ninepins. 

My grandfather maJo a bow to the motley assemblage 
as he entered, and, having undressed himself, placed his 
light in the fireplace, asking pardon of the tongs, which 



76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

seemed to be making love to the shovel in the chimney* 
corner, and whispering soft nonsense in its ear. 

The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep, 
for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, 
one by one, crept up yawning to their attics ; and not a 
female head in the inn was laid on a pillow that night 
without dreaming of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew 
over htm one of those great bags of down, under which 
they smother a man in the Low Countries; and there he 
lay, melting between two feather beds, like an anchovy 
sandwich^ between two slices of toast and butter. He was 
a warm-complexioned man,^ and this smothering played 
the very deuce with him. So, sure enough, in a little 
time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at 
him, and all the blood in his veins was in a fever-heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, 
excepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the different 
chambers ; who answ^red one another in all kinds of tones 
and cadences, like so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The 
quieter the house became, the more unquiet became my 
grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at 
length the bed became too hot to hold him. 

"Maybe the maid had warmed it too nyich?" said the 
curious gentleman, inquiringly. 

"I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. 
*'But, be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grand- 
father." 

"Faith, there's no standing this any longer, ' ' says he. So 
lie jumped out of bed, and went strolling about the house. 

» Perhaps Irving wrote "sandwiched." 

2 "Complexion" means here, as frequently in older Engl^ Jh, "tempera- 
ment" or "natural disposition." So "warm-complexioned" paeans "of a hot 
blood." 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 77 

*'What for?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

**Wliy, to cool himself, to be sure — or perhaps to find a 
more comfortable bed — or perhaps — But no matter 
what he went for — he never mentioned — and there's no 
use in taking up our time in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent 
from his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when 
just as he reached the door, he heard a strange noise 
within. He paused and listened. It seemed as if some 
one were trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. 
He recollected the report of the room being haunted ; but 
he was no believer in ghosts, so he pushed the door gently 
open and peeped in. 

Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within 
enough to have astonished St. Anthony^ himself. By the 
light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced fellow, in a 
long flannel gown and a tall white night- cap with a tassel 
to it, who sat by the fire with a bellows under his arm by 
wa} of bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical 
music that had bothered my grandfather. As he played^ 
too, he kept twitching about with a thousand queer con- 
tortions, nodding his head, and bobbing about his tasselled 
night-cap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd and mighty pre- 
sumptuous, and was about to demand what business he 
had to play his wind-instrument in another gentleman's 
quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met his eye. 
From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy- 
legged chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in 
a coxcombical fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly 
into motion, thrust out first a claw-foot, then a crooked 

» St. Anthony, (251-356) an anchorite, was much disturbed in his medita* 
tions and devotions by many wonderful and alluring visions. The subject 
"Was a favorite one with the early painters. 



78 ^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

arm, and at length, making a leg, slided gracefully up tc 
an easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bot- 
tom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about 
the floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed 
his head and his night-cap about like mad. By degrees 
the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all other pieces 
of furniture. The antique, long-bodied chairs paired olf 
in couples and led down a country- dance; a three-legged 
stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puzzled by its 
supernumerary limb ; while the amorous tongs seized the 
shovel round the waist, and whirled it about the room in 
a German waltz. ^ In short, all the movables got in 
motion : pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so 
many devils; all except a great clothes-press, which kept 
courtesying and courtesying in a corner, like a dowager, 
in exquisite time to the music ; being rather too corpulent 
to dance, or perhaps at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason; 
so being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at 
all times ready for a frolic, he bounced into the room, 
called to the musician to strike up Paddy O'Rafferty, 
capered up to the clothes-press, and seized upon the two 

handles to lead her out ; when — whirr ! the whole revel 

was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs and shovel, 
slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if noth- 
ing had happened, and the musician vanished up the 
chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his hurry. 
My grandfather found himself seated in the middle of the 
floor with the clothes-press sprawling before him, and the 
two handles jerked off, and in his hands. 

'The "German waltz" consists almost entirely of a spinning circular 
motion, with very little gliding for\N ard or backward. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 79 

''Then, after all, this was a mere dream!" sairl the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

"The divil a bit of a dream!" replied the Irishman. 
*' There never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I 
should have liked to see any man tell my grandfather it 
was a dream." 

Well, gentlemen, as- the clothes-press was a mighty 
heavy body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly in 
rear, you may easily suppose that 4;wo such heavy bodies 
coming to the ground would make a bit of a noise. 
Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had mistaken ib 
for an earthquake. The whole garrisou was alarmed. 
The landlord, who slept below, hurried up with a candle 
to inquire the cause, but with all his haste his daughter 
had arrived at the scene of uproar before him. The land- 
lord was followed by the landlady, who was followed by 
the bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by the simper- 
ing chambermaids, all holding together, as well as they 
could, such garments as they first laid hands on ; but all 
in a terrible hurry to see what the deuce was to pay in 
the chamber of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had 
witnessed, and the broken handles of the prostrate clothes- 
press bore testimony to the fact. There was no contesting 
such evidence; particularly with a lad of my grandfather's 
complexion, who seemed able to make good every word 
either with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched 
his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do when 
puzzledo The landlady scratched — no, she did not scratch 
her head, but she knit her brow, and did not seem half 
pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's 
daughter corroborated it by recollecting that the last per- 
son who had dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler 



80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

who died of St. Vitus's dance, and had no doubt infected 
all the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when the 
chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange 
carryings on in that room; and as they declared this 
"upon their honors," there could not remain a doubt 
upon this subject. 

*'And did your grandfather go tp bed again in that 
room?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the 
rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, 
though he had seen much service, he was but indifferently 
acquainted with geography, and apt to make blunders in 
his travels about inns at night, which it would have 
puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning.'"' 

"Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the know- 
ing old gentleman. 

"Never that I heard of. " 

There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish 
romance, when the old gentleman with the haunted head 
observed, that the stories hitherto related had rather a 
burlesque tendency. "I recollect an adventure, how- 
ever," added he, "which I heard of during a residence at 
Paris, for the truth of which I can undertake to vouch, 
and which is of a very grave and singular nature." 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT 

On a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the 
French revolution, a young German was returning to his 
lodgings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. 
The lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT 81 

rattled through the lofty narrow streets — but I should first 
tell you something about this young German. 

Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. 
He had studied for some time at Gottingen/ but being of 
a visionary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered 
into those wild and speculative doctrines which have so 
often bewildered German students. His secluded life, his 
intense appHcation, and the singular nature of his studies, 
had an effect on both mind and body. His health was 
impaired; his imagination diseased. He had been indulg- 
ing in fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until, 
. like Swedenborg,^ he had an ideal world of his own around 
him. He took up a notion, I do not know from what 
cause, that there was an evil influence hanging over him; 
an evil genius or spirit seeking to ensnare him and ensure 
his perdition. Such an idea working on his melancholy 
temperament, produced the most gloomy effects. He 
became haggard and desponding. His friends discovered 
the mental malady ipr eying upon him, and determined that 
the best cure was a change of scene ; he was sent, there- 
fore, to finish his studies amid the splendors and gayeties 
of Paris. 

Wolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the 
revolution. The popular delirium at first caught his 
enthusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political 
and philosophical theories of the day: but the scenes of 
blood which followed shocked his sensitive nature, dis- 
gusted him with society and the world, and made him 
more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a soli- 
tary apartment in the Pays Latin,^ the quarter of stu- 

1 Gottingen is a university town. 

2 Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772) was a religious mystic. He constructed 
for himself a spiritual world in which the dead moved with the living. 

3 Literally, " Latin country" ; the section of Paris in which students for 
merl'y lived, and to less extent In which they still live. 



82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

dents. There, in a gloomy street not far from the 
monastic walls of the Sorbonne/ he pursued his favorite 
speculations. Sometimes he spent hours together in the 
great libraries of Paris, those catacombs of departed 
authors, rummaging among their hoards of dusty and 
obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy appetite. 
He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in the 
charnel-house of decayed literature, 

Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of an ardent 
temperament, but for a time it operated merely upon his 
imagination. He was too shy and ignorant of the world 
to make any advances to the fair, but he was a passionate 
admirer of female beauty, and in his lonely chamber 
would often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces 
which he had seen, and his fancy would deck out images 
of loveliness far surpassing the reality. 

While his mind was in this excited and sublimated 
state, a dream produced an extraordinary effect upon him. 
It was of a female face of transcendant beauty. So strong 
was the impression made, that he dreamt of it again and 
again. It haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by 
night ; in fine, he became passionately enamoured of this 
shadow of a dream. This lasted so long that it became 
one of those fixed ideas which haunt the niinds of melan- 
choly men, and are at times mistaken for madness. 

Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at 
the time Jl mentioned. He was returning home late one 
stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets 
of the Marais^ the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps 
of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow 
streets. He came to the Place de Greve,^the square where 

1 The college of the Sorbonne, an ancient seat of learning in Paris. 

2 The Quartier du Marais, atiother of the quarters, or sections of Paris. 
^The name is now "Place de I'Hotel (ie Ville." 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT 83 

public executions are performed. Tlie lightning quivered 
about the pinnacles of the ancient Hotel de Ville/ and 
shed flickering gleams over the open space in front. As 
Wolfgang was crossing the square, he shrank back with 
horror at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was 
the height of the reign of terror, when this dreadful instru- 
ment of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was con- 
tinually running with the blood of the virtuous and the 
brave. It had that very day been actively employed in 
the work of carnage, and there it stood in grim array, 
amidst a silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims. 

Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was turn- 
ing shuddering from the horrible engine, when he beheld 
a shadowy form, cowering as it were at the foot of the 
steps which led up to the scaffold. A succession of vivid 
flashes of lightning revealed it more distinctly. It was a 
female figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one of 
the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her face 
hid in her lap; and her long dishevelled tresses hanging to 
the ground, streaming with the rain which fell in tor- 
rents. Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in 
this solitary monument of woe. The female had the 
appearance of being above the common order. He knew 
the times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a fair 
head, which had once been pillowed on down, now wan- 
dered houseless. Perhaps this was some poor mourner 
whom the dreadful axe had rendered desolate, and who sat 
here heart-broken on the strand of existence, from which 
all that was dear to her had been launched into eternity. 

He approached, and addressed her in the accents of 

1 The great town-hall of Paris. It was destroyed by the leaders of the 
Commune in 1871, but was reconstructed in its old form and on its old site 
after the Revolution. It still stands one of the finest of the architectural 
monuments of Paris. 



84 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him, 
What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright 
glare of the lightning, the very face which had haunted 
him in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but 
ravishingly beautiful. 

Trembling with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolf- 
gang again accosted her. He spoke something of her 
being exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the 
fury of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her 
friends. She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of 
dreadful signification. 

"I have no friend on earth!" said she. 

"But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 

'*Yes — in the grave!" ' 

The heart of the st' aent melted at the words. 

"If a stranger d^re make an offer," said he, "without 
danger of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble 
dwelling as a shelter; myself as a devoted friend. lam 
friendless myself in Paris, and a stranger in the land; but 
if my life could be of service, it is at your disposal, and 
should be sacrificed before harm or indignity should come 
to you. ' * 

There was an honest earneitness in the young man's 
manner that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was 
in his favor ; it showed him not to be a hackneyed inhabit- 
ant of Paris. Indeed, there is an eloquence in true 
enthusiasm that is not to be doubted. The homeless" 
stranger confided herself implicitly to the protection of 
the student. 

He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf, 
and by the place where the statue of Henry the Fourth 
had been overthrown by the populace. The storm had 
abated, and the thunder rumbled at a distance. All Paris 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT 85 

was quiet ; that great volcano of human passion slumbered 
for a while, to gather fresh strength for the next day's 
eruption. The student conducted his charge through the 
ancient streets of the Pays Latin^ and by the dusky walls 
of the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he 
.inhabited. The old portress who admitted them stared 
with surprise at the unusual sight of the melancholy 
Wolfgang with a female companion. 

On entering his apartment, the student, for the first 
time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his 
dwelling. He had but one chamber — an old-fashioned 
saloon — heavily carved, and fantastically furnished with 
the remains of former magnificence, for it was one of those 
hotels^ in the quarter of the Luxembourg palace, which 
had once belonged to nobility. It was lumbered with 
books and papers, and all the ^sual apparatus of a stu- 
dent, and his bed stood in a recess at one end. 

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better 
opportunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more 
than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, 
but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven 
hair that hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large 
and brilliant, with a singular expression approaching 
almost to wildness. As far as her black dress permitted 
her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her 
whole appearance was highly striking, though she was 
dressed in the simplest style. The only thing approaching 
to an ornament which she wore, was a broad black band 
round her neck, clasped by diamonds. 

The perplexity now commenced with the student how 
to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his pro- 

* To be understood in the French sense of the word, i.e., mansion, or 
palace. 



86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

tection. He thought of abandoning his chamber to her, 
and seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still, he was 
so fascinated by her charms, there seemed to be such a 
spell npon his thoughts and senses, that he could not tear 
himself from her presence. Her manner, too, was sin- 
gular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of tlie 
guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of the 
student had first won her confidence, and then, appar- 
ently, her heart. She was evidently an enthusiast like 
himself, and enthusiasts soon understand each other. 

In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang avowed his 
passion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious 
dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he had 
even seen her. She was strangely affected by his recital, 
and acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards him 
equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild theory 
and wild actions. Old prejudices and superstitions were 
done away; everything was under the sway of the "God- 
dess of Reason. " ^ Among other rubbish of the old times, 
the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- 
ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. Social com- 
pacts were the vogue. Wolfgang was too much ' of a 
theorist not to be tainted by the liberal doctrines of the 
day. 

"Why should we separate?" said he: ''our hearts are 
united; in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. 
What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls 
together?" 

The stranger listened with emotion: she had evidently 
received illumination at the same school. 

"You have no home nor family," continued he: "let me 

1 To take the place of traditional religion the Revolutionists fashioned a 
new one founded solely on reason; on the occasion of the inauguration of 
this religion, Reason was represented by a beautiful woman of Paris. 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT 87 

be everything to you, or rather let us be everything to one 
another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed — 
there is my hand. I pledge myself to you forever. ' ' 

"Forever?" said the stranger, solemnly. 

"Forever!" replied Wolfgang. 
I The stranger clasped the hand ^extended to her: "Then 
I am yours, ' ' murmured she, and sank upon his bosom. 

The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, 
and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious 
apartments suitable to the change in his situation. When 
he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head 
hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He 
spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to 
awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her 
hand, it was cold — there was no pulsation — her face was 
pallid and ghastly. In a word, she was a corpse. 

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene 
of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the 
officer of police entered the room, he started back on 
beholding the corpse. 

"Great heaven!" cried he, "how did this woman come 
here?" 

*'Do you know anything about her?" said Wolfgang 
eagerly. 

"Do I?" exclaimed the officer: "she was guillotined 
yesterday." 

He stepped forward ; undid the black collar round the 
neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor! 

The student burst into a frenzy. "The fiend! the 
fiend has gained possession of _me ! " shrieked he: "lam 
lost forever." 

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was pos- 
sessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had 



88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

reanimated the dead body to ensnare him. He went dis- 
tracted, and died in a mad-house. 

Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finished 
his narrative. 

"And is this really a fact?" said the inquisitive gentle- 
man. 

"A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. "I had 
it from the best authority. The student told it me him- 
self. I saw him in a mad-house in Paris." ^ 



ADVENTUEE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 

As one story of a kind produces another, and as all the 
company seemed fully engrossed with the subject, and dis- 
posed to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the 
scene, there is no knowing how many more strange adven- 
tures we might have heard, had not a corpulent old fox- 
hunter, who had slept soundly through the whole, now 
suddenly awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn. 
The sound broke the charm : the ghosts took to flight, as 
though it had been cock-crowing,' and there was a univer- 
sal move for bed. 

**And now for the Ixaunted chamber," said the Irish 
Captain, taking his candle. 

"Ay, who's to be the hero of the night?" said the gen- 
tleman with the ruined head. 

"That we shall see in the morning," said the old gen- 
tleman with the nose: "whoever looks pale and grizzly 
will have seen the ghost, ' ' 

1 An interesting comparison might be made between this story and some 
of Poe's stories, e. g., Tales of Ratiocination, and Tales of the Grotesque aTtd 
Arabesque. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE S!> 

''Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, "there's many a 
true thing said in jest — in fact, one of yom will sleep in 
the room to-night" 

"What — a haunted room? — a haunted room? — I claim 
the adventure — and I — and I — and I," said a dozen 
guests, talking and laughing at the same time. 

"No, no," said mine host, "there is a secret about one 
of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experi- 
ment : so, gentlemen, none of you shall know who has the 
haunted chamber until circumstances reveal it. I will not 
even know it myself, but will leave it to chance and the 
allotment of the housekeeper. At the same time, if it will 
be any satisfaction to you, I will obserA^e, for the honor of 
my paternal mansion, tliat there's scarcely a chamber in it 
but is well worthy of being haunted. ' ' 

We nov/ separated for the night, and each went to his 
allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and 
I could not but smile at its resemblance in style to those 
eventful apartments described in the tales of the supper- 
table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp- 
black portraits; a bed of ancient damask, with a tester 
sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a number 
pf massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. I drew a 
great claw-footed arm-chair before the wide fireplace; 
stirred up the fire; sat looking into it, and musing upon 
the odd stories I had heard, until, partly overcome by the 
fatigue of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and 
wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my position made my slumber 
troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and 
fearful dreams. Now it was that my perfidious dinner and 
supper rose in rebellion against my peace. I was hag-rid- 
den by a fat saddle of mutton; a plum-pudding weighed 



90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

like lead upon my conscience; the merry- thought^ of a 
capon filled me with horrible suggestions; and a devilled 
leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes 
through my imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of 
the nightmare. Some strange, indefinite evil seemed 
hanging over me which I could not avert ; something ter- 
rible and loathsome oppressed me which I could not shake 
off. I was conscious of being asleep, and strove to rouse 
myself, but every effort redoubled the evil ; until gasping, 
struggling, almost strangling, I suddenly sprang bolt 
upright in my chair, and awoke. 

The light on the mantel -piece had burnt low, and the 
wick was divided; there was a great winding-sheet made 
by the dripping wax on the side towards nie. The dis- 
ordered taper emitted a broad flaring flame, and threw a 
strong light on a painting over the fireplace which I had 
not hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, or 
rather a face, staring full upon me, with an expression 
that was startling. It was without a frame, and at the 
first glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was not 
a real face thrusting itself out of the dark oaken panel. 
I sat in my chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed the 
more it disquieted me. I had never before been affected 
in the same way by any painting. The emotions it caused 
were strange and indefinite. They were something like 
what I have heard ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like 
that mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascination. 
I passed my hand over my eyes several times, as if seeking 
instinctively to brush away the illusion — in vain. They 
instantly reverted to the picture, and its chilling, creeping 
influence over my flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked 
round the room on other pictures, either to divert my 

1 The wish-bone. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 91 

attention, or to see whether the same effect would be pro- 
duced by them. Some of them were grim enough to pro- 
duce the effect, if the mere grimness of the painting 
produced it. — No such thing — my eye passed over them 
all with perfect indifference', but the moment it reverted 
to this visage over the fireplace, it was as if an electric 
shock darted through me. The other pictures were dim 
and faded, but this one protruded from a plain background 
in the strongest relief, and with wonderful truth of color- 
ing. The expression was that of agony — the agony of 
intense bodily pain ; but a menace scowled upon the brow, 
and a few sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness. 
Yet it was not all these characteristics ; it was some horror 
of the mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by this 
picture, which harrowed up my feelings. 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical, that 
my brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good 
cheer, and in some measure by the odd stories about 
paintings which had been told at supper. I determined 
to shake off these vapors of the mind; rose from my chair; 
walked about the room; snapped my fingers; rallied 
myself; laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh, and the 
echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. — I 
walked to the window, and tried to discern the landscape 
through the glass. It was pitch darkness, and a howling- 
storm without ; and as I heard the wind moan among the 
trees, I caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the 
pane of glass, as though it were staring through the win- 
dow at me. Even the reflection of it was thrilling. 

How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now persuaded 
myself it was, to be conquered? I determined to force 
myself not to look at the painting, but to undress quickly 
and get into bed. — I began to undress, but in spite of 



92 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

every effort I could not keep myself from stealing a 
gljance every now and then at the picture; and a glance 
was sufficient to distress me. Even when my back was 
turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, 
peeping over my shoulder, was insupportable. I threw off 
my clothes and hurried into bed, but still this visage gazed 
upon me. I had a full view of it in my bed, and for some 
time could not take my eyes from it. I had grown nerv- 
ous to a dismal degree. I put out the light, and tried to 
force myself to sleep — all in vain. The fire gleaming up 
a little, threw an uncertain light about the room, leaving, 
however, the region of the picture in deep shadow. What, 
thought I, if this be the chamber about which mine host 
spoke as having a mystery reigning over it? I had taken 
his words merely as spoken in jest; might they have a real 
import? I looked around. The faintly lighted apart- 
ment had all the qualifications requisite for a haunted 
chamber. It began in my infected imagination to assume 
strange appearances — the old portraits turned paler and 
paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of light and 
shadow thrown among the quaint articles of furniture gave 
them more singular shapes and characters. — There was a 
huge dark clothes-press of antique form, gorgeous in 
brass and lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive 
to me. 

"Am I then," thought 1, "indeed the hero of the 
haunted room? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is 
this all some contrivance of mine host to raise a laugh at 
my expense?" The idea of being hag-ridden by my own 
fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard looks 
the next day, was intolerable; but the very idea was 
sufficient to produce the effect, and to render me still 
more nervous. — "Pish," said I, "it can be no such thing. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 93 

How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, 
would be so worried by a mere picture? It is my own 
diseased imagination that torments me. ' ' 

I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to 
fall asleep; but all in vain; when one cannot get asleep by 
lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect the 
purpose. The fire gradually went out, and left the room 
in total darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplicable 
countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through 
the gloom — nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed 
to magnify its terrors. It was like having an unseen 
enemy hanging about one in the night. Instead of hav- 
ing one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I 
fancied it in every direction — "There it is," thought I, 
"and there! and there! with its horrible and mysterious 
expression still gazing and gazing on me ! No — if I must 
suffer the strange and dismal influence, it were better face 
a single foe than thus be haunted by a thousand imagoes of 
it." 

Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation, must 
know that the longer it continues the more uncontrollable 
it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at length 
infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied 
it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from 
the wall approaching my face — it seemed breathing upon 
me. "This is not to be borne," said I, at length, spring- 
ing out of bed: "I can stand this no longer — I shall only 
tumble and toss about here all night; make a very spectre 
of myself, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in 
good earnest. Whatever be the ill consequences, I'll quit 
this cursed room and seek a night's rest elsewhere — they 
can but laugh at me, at all events, and they'll be sure to 
have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and 



04 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

show them a haggard and woe-begone visage in the morn- 
ing." 

All this was half-miittered to myself as I hastily slipped 
on my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out 
of the room and down-stairs to the drawing-room. Here, 
after tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I 
made out to re^ich a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, 
determined to bivouac there for the night. The moment 
I found myself out of the neighborhood of that strange 
picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its 
influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was con- 
fined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of 
instinctive caution, turned the key when I closed the door. 
I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; 
from that into a drowsiness, and finally into a deep sleep; 
out of which I did not awake until the housemaid, with 
her besom and her matin-song, came to put the room in 
order. She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, 
but I presume circumstances of the kind were not uncom- 
mon after hunting-dinners in her master's bachelor estab- 
lishment, for she went on with her song and her work, and 
took no further heed of me. . 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my 
chamber; so I found my way to the butler's quarters, 
made my toilet in the best way circumstances would per- 
mit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast- 
table. Our breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter's 
repast^ and the company generally assembled at it. AYhen 
ample justice had, been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, 
and humming ale, for all these were furnished in abun- 
dance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the 
conversation began to break out with all the liveliness and 
freshness of morning mirth. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 95 

^*Bnt who is the hero of the haunted chamber — ^who has 
seen the ghost last night?" said the inquisitive gentleman, 
rolling his lobster-eyes about the table. 

The question set every tongue in motion; a vast deal of 
bantering, criticising of countenances, of mutual accusa- 
tion and retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and 
some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces 
enough in the assembly. I alone could not enter with 
ease and vivacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embar- 
rassed. A recollection of what I had seen and felt the 
preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if 
the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I 
thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with an 
air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious that I was the 
hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in 
my looks. The joke, however, passed over, and no sus- 
picion seemed to attach to me. I was just congratulating 
myself on my escape, when a servant came in saying, that 
the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the drawing- 
room, had left his watch under one of the pillows. My 
repeater was in his hand. 

"What!" said the inquisitive gentleman, "did any gen- 
tleman sleep on the sofa?" 

"Soho! soho!^ a hare — a hare!" cried the old gentle- 
man with the flexible nose. 

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was ris- 
ing in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who 
sat beside me exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, 
** 'Sblood, lad, thou art the man as has seen the ghost!" 

The attention of the company was immediately turned 
on me : if my face had been pale the moment before, it now 
glowed almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could 

» A hunting cry given on starting a hare. 



96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Only make a grimace, and fonnd the muscles of my face 
twitching at sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. 

It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox- 
hunters ; there was a world of merriment and joking on 
the subject, and as I never relished a joke overmuch when 
it was at my own expense, I began to feel a little nettled. 
I tried to look cool and calm, and to restrain my pique ; 
but the coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are 
confounded treacherous. 

"Gentlemen," said I, with a slight cocking of the chin 
and a bad attempt at a smile, ''this is all very pleasant — 
ha! ha! — ^very pleasant — but I'd have you know, I am as 
little superstitious as any of you — ha! ha! — and as to any- 
thing like timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust 
there's no one here means to insinuate, that — as to a 
room's being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen, (growing a 
little warm at seeing a cursed grin breaking out round me,) 
as to a room'? being haunted, I have as little faith in such 
silly stories as any one. But, since you put the matter 
home to me, I will say that I have met with something in 
my room strange and inexplicable to me. (A shout of 
laughter.) Gentlemen, I am serious; I know well what I 
am saying; I am calm, gentlemen, (striking my fist upon 
the table,) by Heaven I am calm. I am neither trifling,. 
nor do I wish to be trifled with. (The laughter of the- 
company suppressed, and with ludicrous attempts at 
gravity.) There is a picture in the room in which I was 
put last night, that has had an effect upon me the most 
singular and incomprehensible." 

'*A picture?" said the old gentleman with the haunted 
head. *'A picture!" cried the narrator with the nose. 
*'A picture! a picture!" echoed several voices. Here- 
there was an ungovernable peal of laughter. I could not. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 9"? 

contain myself. ' I started up from my seat ; looked round 
on the company with fiery indignation ; thrust both of my 
hands into my pockets, and strode up to one of the win- 
dows as though I would have walked through it. . I 
stopped short, looked out upon the landscape without dis- 
tinguishing a feature of it, and felt my gorge rising almost 
to suffocation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had main- 
tained an air of gr-avity through the whole of the scene; 
and now stepped forth, as if to shelter me from the over- 
whelming merriment of my companions. 

*' Gentlemen," said he, "I dislike to spoil sport, but you. 
have had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted cham- 
ber has been enjoyed. I must now take the part of my 
guest. I must not only vindicate him from your pleasan- 
tries, but I must reconcile him to himself, for I suspect 
he is a little out of humor with his own feelings ; and> 
above all, I must crav^e his pardon for having made him. 
the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gentlemen, 
there is something strange and peculiar in the chamber tO' 
which our friend was shown last night ; there is a picture 
in my house which possesses a singular and mysterious 
influence, and with which there is connected a very curious 
story. It is a picture to which I attach a value from a 
variety of circumstances; aind though I have often been 
tempted to destroy it, from the odd and uncomfortable^ 
sensations which it produced in every one that beholds it, 
yet I have never been able to prevail upon myself to make 
the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look upon 
myself, and which is held in awe by all my servants. I 
have therefore banished it to a room but rarely used, and 
should have had it covered last night, had not the nature 
of our conversation, and the whimsical talk, about a. 



98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

haunted chamber, tempted me to let it remain, by way oi 
experiment, to see whether a stranger, totally unacquainted 
with its story, would be affected by it. ' * 

The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into 
a different channel. All were anxious to hear the story of 
the mysterious picture ; and , for myself, so strangely were 
my feelings interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the 
experiment my host had made upon my nerves, and joined 
eagerly in the general entreaty. As the morning was 
stormy, and denied all egress, my host was glad of any 
means of entertaining his company; so, drawing his arm- 
chair towards the fire, he began. 



ADVENTUEE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 

Many years since, when I was a young man, and had 
just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour^ to finish my 
education. I believe my parents had tried in vain to inoc- 
ulate me with wisdom; so they sent me to mingle with 
society, in hopes that I might take it the natural way. 
Such, at least, appears the reason for which nine-tenths of 
our youngsters are sent abroad. In the course of my tour 
I remained some time at Venice. The romantic character 
of that place delighted me ; I was very much amused by 
the air of adventure and intrigue prevalent in this region 
pf masks and gondolas ; and I was exceedingly smitten by 
a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart 
from under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself that 
I was lingering at Venice to study men and manners ; at 
least I persuaded my friends so,, and that answered all my 
purposes. 

1 The "grand tour" is the tour through France, Italy, and Germany. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 99 

I was a little pr6ne to be struck by peculiarities in char- 
acter and conduct, and my imagination was so full of 
romantic associations with Italy that I was always on the 
look-out for adventure. Everything chimed in with such 
a humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of apart- 
ments were* in a proud, melancholy palace on the grand 
canal, formerly the residence of a magnifico,^ and sumptuous 
with the traces of decayed grandeur. My gondolier was 
one of the shrewdest of his class, active, merry, intelli- 
gent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is 
to say, secret to aJJ the world except his master. I had 
not had him a week, before he put me behind all the cur- 
tains in Venice. I liked the silence and mystery of the 
place, and when I sometimes saw from my window a black 
gondola gliding mysteriously along in the dusk of the 
evening, with nothing visible but its little glimmering lan- 
tern, I would jump into my own zendeletta,^ and give a 
signal for pursuit — "But I am running away from my sub- 
ject with the recollection of youthful follies," said the 
Baronet, checking himself. "Let us come to the point.'* 

Among my familiar resorts was a casino* under the 
arcades on one side of the grand square of St. Mark.^ 
Here I used frequently to lounge and take my ice, on those 
warm summer-nights when in Italy everybody lives abroad 
until morning. I was seated here one evening when a 
group of Italians took their seat at a table on the opposite 
side of the saloon. Their conversation was gay and ani- 
mated, and carried on with Italian vivacity and gesticula- 
tion. I remarked among them one young man, however, 

1 S trict grammar required ' 'was. ' ' 
3 A noble or grandee. 

3 The word is a diminutive; a light gondola. 

4 A place where light refreshments are served, a caf6. 

5 The principal square and promenade in Venice. The cathedral of St 
Mark, the Ducal Palace, and other famous buildings are on this square. 



100 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

who appeared to take no share, and find no enjoyment in 
the conversation, though he seemed to force himself to 
attend to it. He was tall and slender, and of extremely 
prepossessing appearance. His features were fine, though 
emaciated. He had a profusion of black glossy hair, that 
curled lightly about his head, and contrasted with the 
extreme paleness of his countenance. His brow was hag- 
gard; deep furrows seemed to have been ploughed into 
his visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently in the 
prime of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, 
but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented by 
some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of every 
effort to fix his attention on the conversation of his com- 
panions, I noticed that every now and then he would turn 
his head slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, 
and then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something 
painful met his eye. This was repeated at intervals of 
about a minute, and he appeared hardly to have recovered 
from one shock, before I saw him slowly preparing to 
encounter another. 

After sitting some time in the casino, the party paid for 
the refreshment they had taken, and departed. The 
young man was the last to leave the saloon, and I 
remarked him glancing behind him in the same way, just 
as he passed out of the door. I could not resist the 
impulse to rise and follow him; for I was at an age when a 
romantic feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The 
party walked slowly down the arcades, talking and laugh- 
ing as they went. They crossed the Piazzetta,^ but paused 
in the middle of it to enjoy the scene. It was one of those 
moonlight nights, so brilliant and clear in the pure 

» The Piazzetta (the word is a diminutive of "piazza") is a smaller con 
tinuation leading off from the squai-^ of St. Mark. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERiOUS STRANGER 101 

atmosphere of Italy. The moonbeams streamed on the 
tall tower of St. Mark, and lighted up the magnificent 
front and swelling domes of the cathedral. The party 
expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept my eye 
upon the young man. He alone seemed abstracted and 
self -occupied. I noticed the .same singular and, as it 
were, furtive glance over the shoulder, which had attracted 
my attention in the casino. The party moved on, and I 
followed; they passed along the walk called the Brogiio,^ 
turned the corner of the Ducal Palace, and getting into 
the gondola, glided swiftly away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt 
upon my mind, and interested me exceedingly. I met 
him a day or two afterwards in a gallery of paintings. He 
was evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled out the 
most masterly productions, and a few remarks drawn from 
him by his companions showed an intimate acquaintance 
with the art. His own taste, however, ran on singular 
extremeso On Salvator Rosa, in his most savage and soli- 
tary scenes; on Raphael, Titian, and Correggio,^ in their 
softest delineations of female beauty; on these he would 
occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this 
seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still would 
recur that cautious glance behind, and always quickly 
withdrawn, as though something terrible met his view. 

1 encountered him frequently afterwards at the theatre, 
at balls, at concerts ; at promenades in the gardens of San 
Georgio;^ at the grotesque exhibitions in the square of St. 
Mark ; among the throng of merchants on the exchange by 

» The Brogiio is that part of the Piazzetta immediately .iu front of the 

2 Raphael, Titian, and Correggio were Italian painters of the fifteenth and 
early sixteenth centuries. Salvator Rosa was a late Italian painter of the 
seventeenth century. For further characterization of Salvator Rosa see 
pp. 355, 363. 

8 One of the islands on which Venice is builk 



102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the Sialto.^ He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds; to hunt 
after bustle and amusement ; yet never to take any interest 
in either the business or the gayety of the scene. Ever an 
air of painful thought, of wretched abstraction ; and ever 
that strange and recurring movement of glancing fearfully 
over the shoulder. I did not know at first but this might 
be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, from dread 
of assassination. But if so,why should he go thus continually 
abroad? why expose himself at all times and in all places? 

I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn 
to him by that romantic sympathy which sometimes draws 
young men towards each other. His melancholy threw a 
charm about him, no doubt heightened by the touching- 
expression of his countenance, and the manly graces of his 
person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. I 
had an Englishman's habitual diffidence and awkwardness 
to contend with; but from frequently meeting him in the 
casinos, I gradually edged myself into his acquaintance. I 
had no reserve on his part to contend with. He seemed, 
on the contrary, to court society; and, in fact, to seek 
anything rather than be alone. 

When he found that I really took an interest in him, he 
threw himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to me 
like a drowning man. He would walk with me for hours 
up and down the place of St. Mark — or would sit, until 
night was far advanced, in my apartments. He took 
rooms under the same roof with me; and his constant 
request was that I would permit him, when it did not 
incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not 
that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conver- 
sation, but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human 

* A section of Venice near the place at which the Ponte di Rialto crosses 
the Grand Canal ; it was the center of trade and commerce. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 103 

being ; and above all, of a being that sympathized with him. 
"I have often heard," said he, "of the sincerity of English- 
men — thank God I have one at length for a friend!" 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my 
sympathy other than by mere companionship. He never 
sought to unbosom himself to me : there appeared to be a 
settled corroding anguish in his bosom that neither could' 
be soothed *'by silence nor by speaking." 

A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and 
seemed to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It 
was not a soft melancholy, the disease of the affections, 
but a parching, withering agony. I could see at times 
that his mouth was dry and feverish; he panted rather 
than breathed; his eyes were bloodshot; his cheeks pale 
and livid ; with now and then faint streaks of red athwart 
them, baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming his 
heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at 
times with a convulsive motion to his side; his hand^ 
would clinch themselves involuntarily, and a kind of shud- 
der would run through his frame. 

I reasoned with him about liis melancholy, sought to 
draw from him the cause ; he shrunk from all confiding , 
"Do not seek to know it," said he, "you could not relievo 
it if you knew it ; you would not even seek to relieve it 
On the contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that,' 
said he, pressing my hand convulsively, "that I feel has- 
become too dear to me to risk." 

I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He war 
young; life had a thousand pleasures in store for him^ 
'here was a healthy reaction in the youthful heart; it 
medicines all its own wounds; "Come, come," said I, 
"there is no grief so great that youth cannot outgrow it.'' 
—"No! no!" said he, clinching his teeth, and striking 



104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

repeatedly, with the energy of despair, on his bosom, — 
"it is here! here! deep-rooted; draining my heart's 
blood. Ifc grows and grows, while my heart withers and 
withers. I have a dreadful monitor that gives me no 
i-epose — that follows me step by step — and will follow me 
step by step, until it pushes me into my grave!" 

As he said this he involuntarily gave one of those fearful 
glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more than 
asual horror. I could not resist the temptation to allude to 
this movement, which I supposed to be some mere malady of 
the nerves. The moment I mentioned it, his face became 
crimsoned and convulsed; he grasped me by both hands — 

"For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing voice, 
"never allude to that again. — Let us avoid this subject, 
my friend; you cannot relieve me, indeed you cannot 
relieve me, but you may add to the torments I suffer. — At 
some future day you shall know all. " 

I never resumed the subject; for however much my 
curiosity might be roused, I felt too true a compassion for 
his sufferings to increase them by my intrusion. . I sought 
various ways to divert his mind, and to arouse him from 
the constant meditations in which he was plunged. He 
saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his power, 
for there was nothing moody or wayward in his nature. 
On the contrary, there was something frank, generous, 
unassuming, in his whole deportment. All the senti- 
ments he uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no 
indulgence, "^asked no toleration, but seemed content to 
carry his load of misery in silence, and only sought to 
carry it by my side. There was a mute beseeching man- 
ner about him, as if he craved companionship as a char- 
itable boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he 
felt grateful to me for not repulsing him. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 105 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over 
my spirits; interfered with all my gay pursuits, and 
gradually saddened my life ; yet I could not prevail upon 
myself to shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me 
for support. In truth, the generous traits of character 
which beamed through all his gloom penetrated to my 
heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed; his 
charity melting and spontaneous; not confined to mere 
donations,- which humiliate as much as they relieve. The 
tone of his voice, tlie beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, 
and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and 
sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of the hand, 
but of the heart. Indeed his liberality seemed to have 
something in it of self-abasement and expiation. He, in 
a manner, humbled himself before the mendicant. "What 
right have I' to ease and affluence" — would he murmur to 
himself — "when innocence wanders in misery and rags?" 

The carnival-time arrived. I hoped the gay scenes then 
presented might have some cheering^ effect. I mingled 
with him in the motley throng that crowded the place of 
St. Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, balls — all in 
vain. The evil kept growing on him. He became more 
and more haggard and agitated. Often, after we had 
returned from one of those scenes of revelry, I have 
entered his room and found him lying on his face on the 
sofa; his hands clinched in his fine hair, and his whole 
countenance bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind. 

The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent succeeded ; 
passion-week arrived ; we attended one evening a solemn 
service in one of the churches, in the course of which a 
grand piece of vocal and instrumental mi^sic was per- 
formed relating to the death of our Saviour.' 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected 



106 TALES OP A TRAVELLER 

by music; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary 
degree. As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty 
aisles, he seemed to kindle with fervor; his eyes rolled 
upwards, until nothing but the whites were visible ; his 
hands were clasped together, until the fingers were deeply 
:mprinted in the flesh. When the music expressed the 
dying agony, his face gradually sank upon his knees; and 
at the touching words resounding through the church, 
^^Gesic morif^^^ sobs burst from him uncontrolled — I had 
never seen him weep before. His had always been agony 
rather thau sorrow. I augured well from the circum- 
stance, and let him weep on uninterrupted. When the 
service was ended, we left the church. He hung on my 
arm as we walked homewards with something of a softer 
and more subdued manner, instead of that nervous agita- 
tion I had been accustomed to witness. He alluded to the 
service we had heard. *' Music," said he, "is indeed the 
voice of heaven; never before have I felt more impressed 
by the story of the atonement of our Saviour. — Yes, my 
friend," said he, clasping his hands with a kind of trans- 
port, *'I know that my Redeemer liveth!" 

We parted for the night. His room was not far from 
mine, and I heard him for some time husied in it. I fell 
asleep, but was awakened before daylight. The young 
man stood by my bedside, dressed for travelling. He held 
a sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he 
laid on the table. 

"Farewell, my friend," said he, "I am about to set 
forth on a long journey; but, before I go, I leave with you 
these remembrances. In this packet you will find the par- 
ticulars of my story. When you read them I shall be far 
away; do not remember me with aversion. — You have been 

5 The plirase refers to the death of Jesus. 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER lOT 

indeed a friend to me. — You have poured oil into a broken 
heart, but you could not heal it. Farewell ! let me kiss 
your hand — lam unworthy to embrace you." He sank 
on his knees, seized my hand in despite of my efforts to 
the contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so sur- 
prised by all the scene, that I had not been able to say a 
word. — '^But we shall meet again," said I, hastily, as I 
saw him hurrying towards the door. "Never, never, in 
this world!" said he, solemnly. — He sprang once more to 
my bedside — seized my hand, pressed it to his heart and 
to his lips, and rushed out of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, 
and sat looking upon the floor, and drumming with his 
fingers on the arm of his chair. 

"And did this mysterious personage return?" said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

"Never!" replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of 
the head, — "I never saw him again." 

"And pray what has all this to do with the picture?" 
inquired the old gentleman with the nose. 

"True," said the questioner; "is it the portrait of that 
crack-brained Italian?" 

"No," said the Baronet, dryly, not half .liking the 
appellation given to his hero; "but this picture was 
enclosed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed packet 
contained its explanation. There was a request, on the 
outside that I would not open it until six months had 
elapsed. I kept my promise in spite of my curiosity. I 
have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read it, 
by way of accounting for the mystery of the chamber; but 
I fear I have already detained the company too long." 

Here there was a general wish expressed to have the 
manuscript read, particularly on the part of the inquisitive 



108 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

gentleman ; so the worthy Baronet drew out a f aii'ly writ- 
ten manuscript, and, wiping his spectacles, read aloud the 
following story. — 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN^ . 

I was born at Naples. My parents, though of noble 
jank, were limited in fortune, or rather, my father was 
ostentatious beyond his means, and expended so much on 
his palace, his equipage, and his retinue, that he was con- 
tinually straitened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was 
a younger son, and looked upon with indifference by my 
father, who, from a principle of family pride, wished to 
leave all his property to my elder brother. I showed, 
when quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Everything 
affected me violently. While yet an infant in my mother's 
arms, and before I had learned to talk, I could be wrought 
upon to a wonderful degree of anguish or delight by the 
power of music. As I grew older, my feelings remained 
equally acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms 
of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my rela- 
tions and of the domestics to play upon this irritable 
temperament. I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, 
provoked to fury, for the entertainment of company, who 
were amused by such a tempest of mighty passion in a 
pigmy frame; — they little thought, or perhaps little 
heeded the dangerous sensibilities they were fostering. I 
thus became a little creature of passion before reason was 
developed. In a short time I grew too old to be a play- 
thing, and then I became a torment. The tricks and pas- 
sions I had been teased into became irksome, and I was 
disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they had 

» For pronunciation of Italian words see p. 288. x 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 109 

taught me. My mother died ; and my power as a spoiled 
child was at an end. There was no longer any necessity 
to humor or tolerate me, for there was nothing to be 
gained by it, as I was no favorite of my father. I there- 
fore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situa- 
tion, and was neglected, or noticed only to be crossed and 
contradicted. Such was the early treatment of a heart 
which, if I can judge of it at all, was naturally disposed 
to the extremes of tenderness and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked me — in 
fact, he never understood me ; he looked upon me as wil- 
ful and wayward, as deficient in natural affection. It was 
the stateliness of his own manner, the loftiness and 
grandeur of his own look, which had repelled me from his 
arms. I always pictured him to myself as I had seen 
him, clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with pomp and 
pride. The magnificence of his person daunted my 
young imagination. I could never approach him with 
the confiding affection of a child. 

My father's feelings were wrapt tip in my elder brother. 
He was to be the inheritor of the family-title and the 
family-dignity, and everything was sacrificed to him — I, 
as well as everything else. It was determined to devote 
me to the Church, so my humors and myself might be 
removed out of the way, either of tasking my father's 
time and trouble, or interfering with the interests of my 
brother. At an early age, therefore, before my mind 
had dawned upon the world and its delights, or known 
anything of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, 
I was sent to a convent, the superior of which was my. 
uncle, and was confided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world : 
he had never relished, for he had never tasted its pleas- 



110 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ures; and he regarded rigid self-denial as the great basis 
of Christian virtue. He considered every one's temper- 
ament like his own ; or at least he made them conform to 
it. His character and habits had an influence over the 
fraternity of which he was superior: a more gloomy, 
saturnine set of beings were never assembled together. 
The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and 
solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of 
those mountains away south of Vesuvius." All distant 
views were shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A moun- 
tain-stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles screamed 
about its turrets. 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as 
soon to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had 
left behind. As my mind expanded, therefore, it 
formed its idea of the world from the convent and its 
vicinity, and a dreary world it appeared to me. An 
early tinge of melancholy was thus infused into my char- 
acter ; and the dismal stories of the monks, about devils 
and evil spirits, with which they affrighted my young 
imagination, gave me a tendency to superstition which I 
could never effectually shake off. They took the same 
delight to work upon my ardent feelings, that had been 
so mischievously executed by my father's household. I 
can recollect the horrors with which they fed my heated 
fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were distant 
from that volcano, with mountains between us; but jts 
convulsive throes shook the solid foundations of nature. 
Earthquakes threatened to topple down our convent- 
towers. A lurid, baleful light hung in the heavens at 
night, and showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in 
our narrow valley. The monks talked of the earth being 
honeycombed beneath us; of streams of molten lava 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 111 

raging through its veins; of caverns of snlphnrous flames 
roaring in the centre, the abodes of demons and the 
damned; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our. feet. 
All these tales were told to the doleful accompaniment of 
the mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the 
walls of our convent vibrate. 

One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired 
from the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation 
of some crime. He 'was a melancholy man, who pursued 
his art in the solitude of his cell, but made it a source of 
penance to him. His employment was to portray, either 
on canvas, or in waxen models, the human face and 
human form, in the agonies of death, and in all the 
stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful mysteries of 
the charnel-house were unfolded in his labors; the loath- 
some banquet of the beetle and the worm. I turn with 
shuddering even from the recollection of his works ; yet, 
at the time, my strong but- ill- directed imagination 
seized with ardor upon his instructions 'in his art. 
Anything was a variety from the dry studies and monot- 
onous duties of the cloister. In a little while I became 
expert with my pencil, and my gloomy productions 
were thought worthy of decorating some of the altars of 
the chapel. 

In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy 
brought up. Everything genial and amiable in my nature 
was repressed, and nothing brought out but what was 
unprofitable and ungracious. I was ardent in my tem- 
perament; quick, mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a 
creature all love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid 
on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing but fear 
and hatred. I hated my uncle. I hated the monks. I 
hated the convent in which I was immured. I hated the 



112 TALES OF A TRAVELLEK 

world; and I almost liated myself for being, as I sup- 
posed, SQ hating and hateful an animaL 

When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was 
suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the breth- 
ren on a mission to a distant part of the country. We 
soon left behind ns the gloomy valley in which I had been 
pent np for so many years, and after a short journey 
among the mountains, emerged upon the voluptuous land- 
scape that spreads itself about the Bay of Naples. Heav- 
ens! how transported was I, when I stretched my gaze 
over a vast reach of delicious sunny country, gay with 
groves and vineyards: with Vesuvius rearing its forked 
summit to my right ; the blue Mediterranean to my left, 
with its enchanting coast, studded with shining towns 
and sumptuous vilks; and Naples, my native Naples, 
gleaming far, far in the distance. 

Good God! was this the lovely world from which I had 
been excluded! I had reached that age when the sensi- 
bilities are in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had 
been checked and chilled. They now burst forth with 
the suddenness of a retarded spring-time. My heart, 
hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into a riot of 
vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of nature 
intoxicated — bewildered me. The song of the peasants; 
their cheerful looks; their happy avocations; the pictur- 
esque gayety of their dresses; their rustic music; their 
dances; all broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul 
responded to the music, my heart danced in my bosom. 
All the men appeared amiable, all the women lovely. 

I returned to the convent; that is to say, my body 
returned, but my heart and soul never entered there again. 
I could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful and a,jhi|ppy 
w orld — a world so suited to my natural charactei^ i \w,d 



/ 

THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN ll^ 

felt so happy while in it; so different a being from what 
I felt myself when in the convent — that tomb of the living. 
I contrasted the countenances of the beings I had seen, full 
of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the pallid, 
leaden, lack-lustre visages of the monks: the dance with 
the droning chant of the chapel. I had before found the 
exercises of the cloister wearisome, they now became 
intolerable. The dull round of duties wore away my 
spirit ; my nerves became irritated by the fretful tinkling 
of the convent-bell, evermore dinging among the moun- 
tain-echoes, evermore calling me from my repose at night 
my pencil by day, to attend to son^e tedious and mechan- 
ical ceremony of devotion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long without putting 
my thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly 
aroused, and was now all awake within me. I watched an 
opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my way on 
foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, 
and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, the lux- 
ury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, and the panto- 
mimic animation of the motley populace, I seemed as if awak- 
ened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly vowed that 
nothing should force me back to the monotony of the cloister. 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I 
had been so young on leaving it that I knew not its situa- 
tion. I found some difficulty in getting admitted to my 
father's presence ; for the domestics scarcely knew that 
there was such a being as myself in .existence, and my 
monastic dress did not operate in my favor. Even my 
father entertained no recollection of my person. I told him 
my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, 
and entreated that I might not be sent back to the convent. 

He received me with the condescension of a patron, rather 



114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

than the fondness of a parent; listened patiently, but 
coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and disgusts, and 
promised to think what else could be done for me. This 
coldness blighted and drove back all th^ frank affection 
of my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the least 
warmth of parental kindness. All my early feelings towards 
my father revived. 1 again looked up to him as the 
stately magnificent being that had daunted my childish 
imagination, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his 
sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; 
he inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me 
with a protecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded 
my pride, which was great. I could brook condescension 
from my father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a 
superior being; but I could not brook patronage from a 
brother, who I felt was intellectually my inferior. The 
servants perceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in 
the paternal mansion, and, menial-like, they treated me 
with neglect. Thus baffled at every point, my affections 
outraged wherever they would attach themselves, I became 
sullen, silent, and desponding. My feelings, driven back 
upon myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I 
remained for some days an unwelcome guest rather than 
a restored son in my father's house. I was doomed nevei 
to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong treat- 
ment, strange even to myself, and they judged of me 
from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks 
of my convent gliding out of my father's room. He saw 
me, but pretended not to notice me, and this very hypoc- 
risy made me suspect something. I had become soi'e and 
susceptible in my feelings, everything inflicted a wound 
on them. In this state of mind, I was treated with 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 115 

marked disrespect by a pampered minion, the favorite 
servant of my father. All the pride and passion of my 
nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the earth. 
My father was passing by ; he stopped not to inqfuire the 
reason, nor indeed could he read the long course of men- 
tal sufferings which were the real cause. He rebuked me 
with anger and scorn ; summoning all the haughtiness of 
his nature and grandeur of his look to give weight to the 
contumely with which he treated me. I felt that I had 
not deserved it. I felt that I was not appreciated. I felt 
that I had that within me which merited better treat- 
ment. My heart' swelled against a father's injustice. I 
broke through my habitual awe of him — I replied to him 
Avith impatience. My hot spirit flushed in my cheek and 
kindled in my eye; but my sensitive heart swelled as 
quickly and before I had half vented my passion, I felt it 
suffocated and quenched in my tears. My father was 
astonished and incensed at this turning of the worm, and 
ordered me to my chamber. 1 retired in silence, choking 
with contending emotions. 

I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an 
adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between my 
father and the monk, about the means of getting me back 
quietly to the convent. My resolution was taken. 1 had 
no longer a home nor a father. That very night I left 
the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about making 
sail from the harbor, and abandoned myself to the wide 
world. No matter to what port she steered ; any part of 
so beautiful a world was better than my convent. No 
matter where I wa^ cast by fortune ; any place would be 
more a home to me than the home I had left behind. 
The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there ^fter 
a voyage, of a few days. 



1]6 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

As I entered the harbor between the moles which 
embrace it, and beheld the amphitheatre of palaces, and 
churches, and splendid gardens, rising one above another, 
I felt at once its title to the appellation of Genoa the 
Superb. I landed on the mole an utter stranger, without 
knowing what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No 
matter: I was released from the thraldom of the convent 
and the humiliations -of home. When I traversed the 
Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, those streets of pal- 
aces, and gazed at the wonders of architecture around me ; 
when I wandered at close of day amid a gay throng of 
the brilliant and the beautiful, through the green alleys 
of the Acquaverde,^ or among the colonnades and terraces 
of the magnificent Doria gardens; I thought it impossible 
to be ever otherwise than happy in Genoa. A few days 
sufficed to show me my mistake. My scanty purse was 
exhausted, and for the first time in my life I experienced 
the sordid distress of penury. I had never known the 
want of money, and had never adverted to the possi- 
bility of such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and 
all its ways ; and when first the idea of destitution came 
over my mind, its effect was withering. I was wandering 
penniless through the streets which no longer delighted 
my eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnificent 
church of the Annunciata.^ 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment 
superintending the placing of one of his pictures over an 
altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art 
during my residence in the convent, had made me an 
enthusiastic amateur. I was struck, at the first glance, 
with the painting. It was the face of a Madonna. So 

' ■ — — — 2 — ! ■ 

» A piazza or square in Genoa. 
2 Annunciata— AnnuneiatiGii. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 117 

innocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of maternal 
tenderness! I lost, for the moment, all recollection of 
myself in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands 
together, and uttered an ejaculation of delight. The 
painter perceived my emotion. He was flattered and 
gratified by it. My air and manner pleased him, and he 
accosted me. I felt too much the want of friendship to 
repel the advances of a stranger ; and there was something 
in this one so benevolent and winnirig, that in a moment 
he gained my confidence. 

I told him my story and my situation, concealing only 
my name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by 
my recital, invited me to his house, and from that time I 
became his favorite pupil. He thought he perceived in 
me extraordinary talents for the art, and his encomiums 
awakened all my ardor. What a blissful period of my 
existence was it that I passed beneath his roof! Another 
being seemed created within me; or rather, all that was 
amiable and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as 
ever I had been at the convent, but how different was my 
seclusion! My time was spent in storing my mind with 
lofty and poetical ideas; in meditating on all that was 
striking and noble in history and fiction ; in studying and 
tracing all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. I 
was always a visionary, imaginative being, but now my 
reveries and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. I 
looked up to my master as to a benevolent genius that had 
opened to me a region of enchantment. He was not a 
native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the solici- 
tations of several of the nobility, and had resided there 
but a few years, for the completion of certain works. His 
health was delicate, and he had to confide much of the 
filling up of his designs to the pencils of his scholars. He 



118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

considered me as particularly happy in delineating the 
human countenance; in seizing upon characteristic though 
fleeting expressions, and fixing them powerfully upon my 
canvas. I was employed continually, therefore, in sketch- 
ing faces, and often, when some particular grace or beauty 
of expression was wanted in a countenance, it was 
intrusted to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bring- 
ing me forward; and partly, perhaps, through my actual 
skill, and partly through his partial praises, 1 began to be 
noted for the expressions of my countenances. 
3 Among the various works which he had undertaken, 
was an historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, in 
which were to be introduced the likenesses of several 
of the family. Among these was one intrusted to my 
pencil. It was that of a young girl, as yet in a convent 
for her education. She came out for the purpose of 
sitting for the picture. I first saw her in an apartment 
of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. She stood 
before a casement that looked out upon the bay; a stream 
of vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory 
round her, as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She 
was but sixteen years of age — and oh, how lovely! The 
scene broke upon me like a mere^ vision of spring and 
youth and beauty. I could have fallen down and wor- 
shiped her. She was like one of those fictions of poets 
and painters, when they would express the beau ideal that 
haunts their minds with shapes of indescribable perfec- 
tion. I was permitted to watch her countenance in vari- 
ous positions, and I fondly protracted the study that was 
undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the more I became 
enamoured; there was something almost painful in my 
intense admiration. I was but nineteen years of age, shy, 

1 The word is used in its somewhat unusual, etymological sense of "sheer." 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 119 

diffident, and inexperienced. I was treated with attention 
by her mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm in my 
art had won favor for me ; and I am inclined to think 
something in my air and manner inspired interest and 
respect. Still the kindness with which I was treated 
could not dispel the embarassment into which my own 
imagination threw me when in presence of this lovely 
being. It elevated her into something almost more than 
mortal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly use; too 
delicate and exalted for human attainment. As I sat 
tracing her charms on* my canvas, with my eyes occa- 
sionally riveted on her features, I drank in delicious poison 
that made me giddy. My heart alternately gushed with 
tenderness, and ached with despair. Now I became more 
than ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dor- 
mant at the bottom of my soul. You who were born in 
a more temperate climate, and uruder a cooler sky, have 
little idea of the violence of passion in our southern 
bosoms. 

A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to her 
convent, but her image remained indelibly impressed upon 
my heart. It dwelt in my imagination; it became my 
pervading idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon my 
pencil. I became noted for my felicity in depicting female 
loveliness : it was but because I multiplied the image of 
Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy by introducing 
her in all the productions of my master. I have stood, 
,with delight, in one of the chapels of the Annunciata, and 
heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint 
which I had painted. I have seen them bow down in 
adoration before the painting; they were bowing before 
the loveliness of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say 



1^0 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of 
my imagination, that the image formed in it continued in 
all its power and freshness. Indeed, I was a solitary, 
meditative being, much given to reverie, and apt to foster 
ideas which had once taken strong possession of me. I 
was roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream 
by the death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe 
the pangs his death occasioned me. It left me alone, and 
almost broken-hearted. He bequeathed to me his little 
property, which, from the liberality of his disposition, 
and his expensive style of living, was indeed but small ; 
and he most particularly recommended me, in dying, to 
the protection of a nobleman who had been his patron. 

The latter was a man who passed for munificent. He 
was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently 
wished to be thought so. He fancied he saw in me 
indications of future i excellence ; my pencil had already 
attracted attention; he took meat once under his pro- 
tection. Seeing that I was overwhelmed with grief, and 
incapable of exerting myself in the mansion of my late 
benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a villa 
which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the 
picturesque neighborhood of Sestri di Ponente.^ 

I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He 
was nearly of my age ; prepossessing in his appearance, and 
fascinating in his manners, he attached himself to me, and 
seemed to court my good opinion. I thought there was 
something of profession in his kindness, and of caprice in 
his disposition ; but I had nothing else near me to attach 
myself to, and my heart felt the need of something to 
repose upon. His education had been neglected; he 
looked upon me as his superior in mental powers and 

* West Sestri nes on the sea coast four or five miles west of Genoa. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 121 

acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. 
I felt that I was his equal in birth, and that gave independ- 
ence to my manners, which had its effect. The caprice 
and tyranny I saw sometimes exercised on others, over 
whom he had power, were never manifested towards me. 
We became intimate friends and frequent companions. 
Still I loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reveries of 
my own imagination among the scenery by which I was 
surrounded. The villa commanded a wide view of the 
Mediterranean, and of the picturesque Ligurian coast. It 
stood alone in the midst of ornamented grounds, finely 
decorated with statues and fountains, and laid out in 
groves and alleys and shady lawns. Everything was 
assembled here that could gratify the taste, or agreeably 
occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquillity of this 
elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings gradually 
subsided, and blending with the romantic spell which still 
reigned over my imagination, produced a soft, voluptuous 
melancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the count, when 
our solitude was enlivened by another inhabitant. It was 
' a daughter of a relative of the count, who had lately died 
in reduced circumstances, bequeathing this only child to 
his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from Fil- 
ippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea 
of beauty, as not to admit of any other. We were in the 
central saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was still 
in mourning, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. 
As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by the 
elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace with 
which the mezzaro^ the bewitching veil of Genoa, was 
folded about her slender form. They entered. Heavens ! 
what was my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me 1 It 



122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

was herself pale with grief, but still more matured in love- 
liness than when I had last beheld her. The time that 
had elapsed had developed the graces of her person, and 
the sorrow she had undergone had diffused over her coun- 
tenance an irresistible tenderness. 

She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears 
rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose com-, 
pany she had been accustomed to behold me. For my 
part, I cannot express what were my emotions. By 
degrees I overcame the extreme shyness that had formerly 
paralyzed me in her presence. We were drawn together 
by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our best 
friend in the world; we were each, in some measure, 
thrown upon the kindness of others. When I came to 
know her intellectually, all my ideal picturings of her 
were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delight- 
ful susceptibility to everything beautiful and agreeable in 
nature, reminded me of my own emotions when first I 
escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking 
delighted my judgment; the sweetness of her nature 
wrapped itself round my heart ; and then her young, and 
tender, and budding loveliness, sent a delicious madness 
to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something 
more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my 
comparative unworthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and one 
of mortality's most susceptible and loving compounds ; — 
for she loved me ! 

How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot 
recollect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees as a won- 
der past hope of belief. We were both at such a tender 
and loving age ; in constant intercourse with each other ; 
mingling in the same elegant pursuits, — for music, poetry, 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 125 

and painting were our mutual delights; and we were 
almost separated from society among lovely and romantic 
scenery. Is it strange that two young hearts, thus 
brought together, should readily twine round each other? 
Oh, gods! what a dream — a transient dream of unal- 
loyed delight, then passed over my soul ! Then it was 
that the world around me was indeed a paradise ; for I 
j had woman — lovely, delicious woman, to share it with 
me ! How often have I rambled along the picturesque 
, shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild mountains, with the 
coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below me, 
; and the slender Faro^ of Genoa on its romantic promontory 
I in the distance; and as I sustained the faltering steps of 
Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness enter 
, into so beautiful a world ! How often have we listened 
i together to the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich 
notes among the moonlight bowers of the garden, and 
have wondered that poets could ever have fancied anything 
melancholy in its song! Why, oh why is this budding 
season of life and tenderness so transient ! why is this rosy 
cloud of love, that sheds such a glow over the morning of 
our days, so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the 
storm ! 

I was the first to awaken from this blissful delirium of 
the affections. I had gained Bianca's heart, what was I 
to do with it? I had no wealth nor prospect to entitle 
me to he^ hand ; was I to take advantage of her ignorance 
of the world, of her confiding affection, and draw her 
down to my own poverty? Was this requiting the hos- 
pitality of the count? was this requiting the love of Bianca? 
Now first I began to feel that even successful love may 
have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my 

>i — r I 

» Light-house. 



124 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

heart. I moved about the palace like a guilty being. 1 
felt as if I had abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief 
within its walls. I could no longer look with unembarassed 
mien in the countenance of the count. I accused myself 
of perfidy to him, and I thought he read it in my looks, 
and began to distrust and despise me. His manner had 
always been ostentatious and condescending; it now 
appeared cold and haughty. Filippo, too, became reserved 
and distant ; or at least I suspected him to be so. Heav- 
ens ! was this the mere coinage of my brain? Was I to 
become suspicious of all the world? a poor, surmising 
wretch; watching looks and gestures; and torturing myself 
with misconstructions? Or, if true, was I to remain "beneath 
a roof where I was merely tolerated, and linger there on 
sufferance? "This is not to be endured!" exclaimed I: 
*'I will tear myself from this state of self-abasement — I 
will break through this fascination and fly — Fly! — 
Whither? from the world? for where is the world when I 
leave Bianca behind me?" 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me 
at the idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many 
times I was on the point of declaring my family and rank, 
and asserting my equality in the presence of Bianca, when 
I thought her relations assumed an air of superiority. But 
the feeling was transient. I considered myself discarded 
and condemned by my family; and had solemnly vowed 
never to own relationship to them until they themselves 
should claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and 
my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved 
would be less intolerable than thus to be assured of it, 
and yet not dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer 
the enraptured admirer of Bianca; I no longer hung in 



\ 



THE STO|lY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 125 

ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in with 
insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her very 
smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in having 
won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and 
inquired the cause with her usual frankness and simplic- 
ity. I could not evade the inquiry, -for my heart was full 
to aching. I told her all the conflict of my soul; my 
devouring passion, my bitter self -upbraiding. "Yes," 
said I, "I am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from my 
family — a wanderer — a nameless, homeless wanderer — with 
nothing but poverty for my portion; and yet I have dared 
!to love you — have dared to aspire to your love." 

My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw nothing 
in my situation so hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought 
Inp in a convent, she knew nothing of the world — its wants 
— ^its cares: and indeed what woman is a worldly casuist 
'in the matters of the heart? Nay, more, she kindled into 
isweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my fortunes and 
myself. We had dwelt together on the works of the 
famous masters. I related to her their histories; 
the high reputation, the influence, the magnificence to 
jwhich they had attained. The companions of princes, the 
Ifavorites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All 
'this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing in all their 
j^reat productions that I was not able to achieve; and 
when I beheld the lovely creature glow with fervor, and 
'her whole countenance radiant with visions of my glory, 
[ was snatched up for the moment into the heaven of hen 
3wn imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story; yet 
I cannot help lingering over a period of my life on which, 
^th all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, 



126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for as yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not 
know what might have been the result of this struggle 
between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a 
Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my 
brother. It was accompanied by an earnest inquiry for 
intelligence concerning me, and a prayer, should this 
meet my eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an 
infirm and afflicted father. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but my 
brother had never been as a brother to me. I had long 
considered myself as disconnected from him, and his death 
caused me but little emotion. The thoughts of my father, 
infirm and suffering, touched me, however, to the q^uick ; 
and when I thought of him, that lofty, magnificent being, 
now bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for com- 
fort, all my resentment for past neglect was subdued, and 
a glow of filial affection was awakened within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered all 
others, was transport at the sudden change in my whole 
fortunes. A home, a name, rank, wealth, awaited me; 
and love painted a still more rapturous prospect in the 
distance. I hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her 
feet. '*0h, Bianca!" exclaimed I, "at length I can claim 
you for my own. I am no longer a nameless adventurer, 
a neglected, rejected outcast. Look — read — behold the 
tidings that restore me to my name and to myself!" 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca 
rejoiced in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it' 
lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her own part, 
she had loved me for myself, and .had never doubted that 
my own merits would command both fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. I no 
longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust; hope ele- 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 127 

vated them to the skies — my soul was lit up with fresh 
fires, and beamed from my countenance. 

I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to 
the count ; to let him know who and what I was — and to 
make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but he was 
absent on a distant estate. I opened my whole soul to 
Filippo. Now first I told him of my passion, of the 
doubts and fears that had distracted me, and of the tid- 
ings that had suddenly dispelled them. He overwhelmed 
me with congratulations, and with the warmest expres- 
sions of sympathy ; I embraced him in the fulness of my 
heart; — I felt compunctions for having suspected him of 
coldness, and asked his forgiveness for ever having doubted 
his friendship. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expan- 
sion of the heart between young men. Filippo entered 
into our concerns with the most eager interest. He was 
our confidant and counsellor. It was determined that I 
should hasten at once to Naples, to reestablish myself in my 
father's affections, and my paternal home; and the 
moment the reconciliation was effected, and my father's 
consent insured, I should return and demand Bianca of 
the count. Filippo engaged to secure his father's acquies- 
cence ; indeed he undertook to watch over our interest, 
and to be the channel through which we might corre- 
spond. 

My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — agoniz 
ing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had 
been one of our favorite resorts. How often and often did 
I return to have one more adieu, to have her look once 
more on me in speechless emotion; to enjoy once more the 
rapturous sight of those tears streaming down her lovely 
cheeks; to seize once more on that delicate hand, the 



'VZS TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

frankly accorded pledge of love^ and cover it with tears 
and kisses? Heavens ! there is a delight even in the part- 
ing agony of two lovers, worth a thousand tame pleasures 
of the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes, 
at the window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines 
which clustered about the casement, her form beaming 
forth iji virgin light, her countenance all tears and smiles, 
sending a thousand and a thousand adieus after me, as 
hesitating, in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I 
faltered my way down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the harbor of Genoa, how 
eagerly my eye stretched along the coast of Sestri till it 
discovered the villa gleaming from among the trees at 
the foot of the mountain. As long as day lasted I gazed 
and gazed upon it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere 
white speck in the distance; and still my intense and fixed 
gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the coast had 
blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the even- 
ing gloom. 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. 
My heart yearned for the long-withheld blessing of a 
father's love. As I entered the proud portal of the ances- 
tral palace, my emotions were so great that I could not 
speak. No one knew me, the servants gazed at me with 
curiosity end surprise. A few years of intellectual 
elevation and development had made a prodigious change 
in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. Still, 
that no one should know me in my rightful home was 
overpowering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. 1 
was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst into 
tears and wept aloud. When I made myself known, how- 
ever, all was changed. I, who had once been almost 
repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly as an exile, was 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 129 

welcomed back with acclamation, with servility. One of 
the servants hastened to prepare my father for my recep- 
tion ; my eagerness to receive the paternal embrace was so 
great that I could not await his return, but hurried after 
him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the 
chamber! My father, whom I had left in the pride of 
vigorous age, whose noble and majestic bearing had so 
awed my young imagination, was bowed down and with- 
ered into decrepitude. A paralysis had ravaged his stately 
form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in 
his chair, with pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, wandering 
eye. His intellect had evidently shared in the ravages of 
his frame. The servant was endeavoring to make him 
comprehend that a visitor was at hand. I tottered up to 
him, and sank at his feet. All his past coldness and 
neglect were ^forgotten in his present sufferings. I 
remembered only that he was my parent, and that I had 
deserted him. I clasped his knee: my voice was almost 
filled with convulsive sobs. ''Pardon — pardon! oh! my 
father!" was all that I could utter. His apprehension 
seemed slowly to return to him. He gazed at me for some 
moments with a vague, inquiring look, a convulsive tremor 
quivered about his lips; he feebly extended a shaking 
hand; laid it upon my head, and burst into an infantine 
flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his 
sight. I appeared the only object that his heart 
responded to in the world; all else was as a blank to him. 
He had almost lost the power of speech, and the reasoning 
faculty seemed at an end. He was mute and passive, 
excepting that fits of childlike weeping would sometimes 
come over him without any immediate cause. If I left 
the room at any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the 



130 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

door till my return, and on my entrance there was another 
gush of tears. 

To talk with him of all my concerns, in this ruined sta^e 
of mind, would have been worse than useless ; to have left 
him for ever so short a time would have been cruel, unnat« 
aral. Here then was a new trial for my affections. I 
wrote to Bianca an account of my return, and of my actual 
situation, painting in colors vivid, for they were true, the 
torments I suffered at our being thus separated ; for the 
youthful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. 
I enclosed the letter in one to Filippo, who was the chan- 
nel of our correspondence. I received a reply from him 
full of friendship and sympathy; from Bianca, full of 
assurances of affection and constancy. Week after week, 
month after month elapsed, without making any change 
in my circumstances. The vital flame which had seemed 
nearly extinct when first I met my father, kept fluttering 
on without any apparent diminution. I watched him 
constantly, faithfully, I had almost said patiently. I 
knew that his death alone would set me free — ^yet I never 
at any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able to 
make any atonement for past disobedience; and denied, 
as I had been, all endearments of relationship in my early 
days, my heart yearned towards a father, who in his age 
and helplessness had thrown himself entirely on me for 
comfort. 

My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from 
absence: by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper 
and deeper channel. 1 made no new friends nor acquaint- 
ances ; sought none of the pleasures of Naples, which my 
rank and fortune threw open to me. Mine was a heart 
that confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them 
with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, adminis- 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 131 

ter to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the silence 
of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I 
amused myself with my pencil, in portraying the image 
ever present to my imagination. I transferred to canvas 
every look and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I 
showed them to my father, in hopes of awakening an 
interest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my love ; but 
he was too far sunk in intellect to take any notice of them. 
When I received a letter from Bianca, it was a new source 
of solitary luxury. Her letters, it is true, were less and 
less frequent, but they were always full of assurances of 
unabated affection. They breathed not the frank and 
hmocent warmth with which she expressed herself in con- 
versation, but I accounted for it from the embarrassment 
which inexperienced minds have often to express them- 
selves upon paper. Filippo assured me of her unaltered 
constancy. They both lamented, in the strongest terms, 
our continued separation, though they did justice to the 
filial piety that kept me by my father's side. 

Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted exile. To 
me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by 
nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so 
long an absence, iiad I not felt assured that the faith of 
Bianca was equal to my own. At length my father died. ' 
Life went from him almost imperceptibly. I hung over him 
in mute affliction, and watched the expiring spasms of 
nature. His last faltering accents whispered repeatedly a 
blessing on me. Alas! how has it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid 
them in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my . 
affa,irs, put them in a posture to be easily at my command 
from a distance, and embarked once more with a bounding 
heart for Genoa. 



132 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh! what was my rap- 
ture, when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the 
shadowy summits of the Apennines rising almost like clouds 
above the horizon! The sweet breath of summer just 
moved us over the long wavering billows that were rolling 
US on towards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri rose 
like a, creation of enchantment from the silver bosom of 
the deep. I beheld the line of villages and paiaces stud- 
ding its borders. My eye reverted to a well-known point, 
and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, it sin- 
gled out the villa which contained Bianca. It was a mere 
speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, the 
polar star of my heart. 

Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but oh ! 
how different the elnotions between departure and return. 
It now kept growing and growing, instead of lessening and 
lessening on my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. 
I looked at it through a telescope. I gradually defined 
one feature after another. The balconies of the central 
saloon where first I met Bianca beneath its roof; the 
terrace where we so often had passed the delightful sum- 
mer evenings; the awning which shaded her chamber- 
window; I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. 
Could she but know her lover was in the bark whose white 
sail now gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! My 
fond impatience increased as we neared the coast; the 
ship seemed to lag lazily over the billows; I could almost 
have sprang into the sea, and swam to the desired 
shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene ; 
but the moon arose in all her fulness and beauty, and 
shed the tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic 
coast of Sestri. My soul was bathed in unutterable 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIA^ 133 

tenderness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should 
pass in once more wandering with Bianca by the light of 
that' blessed moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As 
early next morning as I could get released from the for- 
malities of landing, I threw myself on horseback, and 
hastened to the villa. As I galloped round the rocky 
promontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast 
of Sestri opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and doubts 
suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is something 
fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncertain 
what ills or changes absence may have effected. The tur- 
bulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred 
my horse to redoubled speed; he was covered with foam 
when we both arrived panting at the gateway that opened 
to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a cot- 
tage, and walked through the grounds, that I might regain 
tranquillity for the approaching interview. I chid myself 
for having suffered mere doubts and surmises thus sud- 
denly to overcome me; but I was always prone to be car- 
ried away by gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden, everycning bore the same look 
as when I had left it; and this unchanged aspect of 
things reassured me. There were the alleys in which 
I had so often walked with Bianca, as we listened to the 
song of the nightingale; the same shades under which we 
had so often sat during the noontide heat. There were 
the same flowers of which she was so fond; and which 
appeared still to be under the ministry of her hand. 
Everything looked and breathed of Bianca; hope and joy 
flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a little 
arbor, in which we had often sat and read together ; — a 
book and giove lay on the bench; — it was Bianca 's glove; 



134 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

it was a volume of the "Metastasio'* ^ I had given her. 
The glove lay in my favorite passage. I clasped them to 
my heart with rapture. "All is safe!" exclaimed I; "she 
loves me, she is still my own!" 

I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which I had 
faltered slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite 
pavilion, which had witnessed our parting-scene. The 
window was open, with the same vine clambering about 
ft, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. 

how transporting was the contrast in my situation! As 

1 passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female 
voice: they thrilled through me with an appeal to my 
heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, 1 felt 
they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, over- 
powered with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly 
upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion. 
The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her 
back was towards me, she was warbling a soft melancholy 
air, and was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to 
show me that she was copying one of my own paintings. 
I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emo- 
tions. She paused in her singing: a heavy sigh, almost a 
sob, followed. I could no longer contain myself o "Bian- 
ca!" exclaimed I, in a half -smothered voice. She started 
at the sound, brushed back the ringlets that hung cluster- 
ing about her face, darted a glance at me, uttered a pierc- 
ing shriek, and would have fallen to the earth, had I not 
caught her in my arms. 

"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her to 
my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She 
lay in my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at the 
effects of my precipitation, I scarce knew what to do, I 

» An Italian Doet, 1698-1782. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 135 

tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to 
consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half opened hex 
eyes. — "Where am I?" murmured she faintly. "Here!" 
exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, "here — close to 
the heart that adores you — in the arms of your faithful 
Ottavio!" "Oh no! no! no!" shrieked she, starting into 
sudden life and terror, — "away! away! leave me! leave 
me!'' 

She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a corner of 
the saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the 
very sight of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck. I 
could not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling — 
confounded. I endeavored to take her hand; but she 
shrunk from my very touch with horror. 

"Good heavens, Bianca!" exclaimed I, "what is the 
meaning of this? Is this my reception after so long an 
absence? Is this the love you professed for me?" 

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. 
She turned to me a face wild with anguish: "No more or 
that — ^no more of that!" gasped she: "talk not to me of 
love — I — I — am married!" 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow — a sickness 
struck to my very heart. I caught at a window-frame for 
support. For a moment or two everything was chaos 
around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on 
a sofa, her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing con- 
vulsively. Indignation for her fickleness for a? moment 
overpowered every other feeling. 

"Faithless! perjured!" cried I, striding across the 
room. But another glance at that beautiful being in dis- 
tress checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell 
together with her idea in my soul. 

"Oh! Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have 



136 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

dreamt of fchis? Could I have suspected you would have 
been false to me?" 

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all dis- 
ordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look. 
"False to you? — They told me you were dead!" 

"What," said I, "in spite of our constant correspond- 
ence?" 

She gased wildly at me : "Correspondence? what corre- 
spondence?" 

"Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my 
letters?" 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor. "As 
I hope for mercy — never!" 

A horrible surmise shot through my brain, "Who told 
you I was dead?" 

"It was reported that the ship in which you embarked 
for Naples perished at sea." 

"But who told you the report?" 

She paused for an instant, and trembled; — "Filippo!" 

"May the God of heaven curse him!" cried I, extending 
my clenched fists aloft. 

"Oh do not curse him, do not curse him!" exclaimed 
she, "he is — he is — my husband!" 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that 
had been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid 
fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utter- 
ance — I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of 
horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The 
poor victim of deception before me thought it was with 
her I was incensed. She faintly murmured forth her 
exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more 
than she meant to reveal, I saw with a glance how both 
of us had been betrayed. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 137 

" 'Tis well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents 
of concentrated fury, *'He shall render an account of all 
this." 

Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her coun- 
tenance. "For mercy's sake, do not meet him! — say 
nothing of what has passed — for my sake say nothing to 
him — I only shall be the sufferer!" 

A new suspicion darted across my mind. — "What!'' 
exclaimed I, "do you then fear him? is he unkind to you? 
Tell me," reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her 
eagerly in the face, "tell me — dares he to use you 
harshly?" 

"No! no! no!" cried she, faltering and embarrassed; 
but the glance at her face had told yolumes. I saw in her 
pallid and wasted features, in the prompt terror and sub- 
dued agony of her eye, a whole history of a mind broken 
down by tyranny. Great God! and was this beauteous 
flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon? The 
idea roused me to madness. I clinched my teeth and 
hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to 
have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled 
within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless 
affright. As I strode by the window, my eye darted down 
the alley. Eatal moment ! I beheld Filippo at a distance ! 
my brain was in delirium— I sprang from the pavilion, and 
was before him with the quickness of lightning. He saw 
me as I came rushing upon him — he turned pale, looked 
wildly to right and left, as if he would have fled, and 
trembling, drew his sword. 

"Wretch!" cried I, "well may you draw your weapon!" 

I spoke not another word — I snatched forth a stiletto, 
put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried 
my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my 



138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the blood- 
thirsty feeling of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled 
him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until, with 
reiterated wounds and strangling convulsions, he expired 
in my grasp. I remained glaring on the countenance, 
horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its pro- 
truded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from 
my delirium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying 
distractedly towards us. My brain whirled — I waited not 
to meet her ; but fled from the scene of horror. I fled 
forth from tlie garden like another Cain, — a hell within my 
bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing 
whither, almost without knowing why. My only idea was 
to get farther and farther from the horrors I had left be- 
hind ; as if I could throw space between myself and my con- 
science. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days 
and days among their savage heights. How I existed, I 
cannot tell ; what rocks and precipices I braved, and how 
I braved them, I know not. I kept on and on, trying to 
out-travel the curse that clung to me. Alas ! the shrieks 
of Bianca rung forever in my ears. The horrible coun- 
tenance of my victim was forever before my eyes. The 
blood of Filippo cried to me from the ground. Rocks, 
trees, and torrents, all resounded with my crime. Then 
it was I felt how much more insupportable is the anguish 
of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh ! could I 
but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart — 
could I but have regained the innocence that reigned in 
my breast as I entered the garden at Sestri — could I have 
but restored my victim to life, I felt as if I could 
look on with transport, even though Bianca were in his 
arms. 

By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled into a 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 139 

permanent malady of tlie miucl — into one of the most hor- 
rible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I 
went, the countenance of him I had slain appeared to fol- 
low me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it behind 
me, hideous with the contortions of the dying moment. 
I have tried in every way to escape from this horrible 
phantom, but in vain. I know not whether it be an 
illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dismal educa- 
tion at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent by 
Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is — at all times — 
in all places. Nor has time nor habit had any effect in 
familiarizii^g me with its terrors. I have travelled from 
place to place — plunged into amusements — tried dissipa- 
tion and distraction of every kind — all — all in vain. I 
oiice had recourse to my pencil, as a desperate experiment. 
I painted an exact resemblance of this phantom-face. 1 
placed it before me, in hopes that by constantly contem- 
plating the copy, I might diminish the effect of the orig- 
inal. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the 
misery. Such is the curse that has clung «to my footsteps 
— that has made my life a burden, but the thought of 
death terrible. God knows what I have suffered — what 
days and days, and nights and nights of sleepless torment 
— what a never-dying worm has preyed upon my heart — 
what an .unquenchable fire has burned within my brain! 
He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my poor weak 
nature ; that converted the tenderest of affections into the 
deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail erring 
creature has expiate/i by long-enduring torture and meas- 
ureless remorse the crime of a moment of madness. Often, 
often have I prostrated myself in the dust, and implored 
that he would give me a sign of his forgiveness, and let 
me die 



140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant 
to leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be 
read when I should be no more. 

My prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. You 
were witness to my emotions last evening at the church, 
when the vaulted temple resounded with the words of 
atonement and redemption. I heard a voice speaking to 
me from the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above 
the pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir — it 
spoke to me in tones of celestial melody — it promised 
mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expia- 
tion. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on my way 
to Genoa, to surrender myself to justice. You who have 
pitied my sufferings, who have poured the balm of sym- 
pathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my Inemory 
with abhorrence now that you know my story. Recollect, 
that when you read of my crime I shall have atoned for it 
with my blood ! 

When the Baronet had finished, there was .a universal 
desire expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. 
After much entreaty the Baronet consented, on condition 
that they should only visit it one by one. He called his 
housekeeper, and gave her charge to conduct the gentle- 
men, singly, to the chamber. They all returned varying 
in their stories: some affected in one way, some in 
another ; some more, some less ; but all agreeing that there 
was a certain something about the painting that had a very 
odd effect upon the feelings. 

I stood in a deep bow-window with the Baronet, and 
could not help expressing riy wonder. "After all," said 
1, "there are certain mysteries in our nature, certain 
inscrutable impulses and influences, which warrant one in 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 141 

being superstitious. AYho can account for so many per- 
sons of different characters being thus strangely affected 
by a mere painting?" 

"And especially when not one of them has seen it!" said 
the Baronet, with a smile. 

"How!" exclaimed I, "not seen it?" 

"Not one of them!" replied he, laying his finger on his 
lips, in sign of secrecy. "I saw that some of them were 
in a bantering vein, and did not choose that the memento 
of the poor Italian should be made jest of. So Fgave the 
housekeeper a hint to show them all to a different cham- 
i)er!" 

Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentleman.* 

^ » Note tbe definite growth in seriousness of the stories of this gr<mp. Is 
Uiere an accompanying growth in excellence? 



PART S'jCOND 
BUOKTHOENE AND HIS FEIENDS' 

This world is the best that we live in, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in; 

But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own. 

'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was 'mown. 

Lines from an Inn Window. 

1 The material of the Buckthorne Stories, as Ir-vi.ng first planned, was 
to be worked up into a novel. But, writing in his usual desultory manner, 
Irving found the sustained effort necessary to the composition of a novel 
growing burdensome. He consequently abandoned his first plan, an(? 
breaking up the chapters already written, he made ot them the group ol 
stories forming this section of the Tales of a Traveller. The unfulfilled first 
p\n:pose of the Buckthorne stories largely determined their character. The 
stories of the other three sections of the Tales of a Traveller are tales of 
romance and adventure; their chief aim is to excite and amuse. The stories 
of this second section are more realistic ; their chief aim is to present a true 
picture of life. They may be called, as Irving first intended calling his 
novel, the History of an Author, The time of the action may be fixed at the 
end of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century. 



143 



LITERARY LIFE 

Among other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, I liad at 
one time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life; 
and being at London, one of the most noted places for the 
production of books, I was excessively anxious to know 
something of the animals which produced them. Chance 
fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the 
name of Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had 
lived much in the metropolis, and could give me the nat- 
ural history of every odd animal to be met with in that 
wilderness of men. He readily imparted to me some use- 
ful hints upon the subject of my inquiry. 

."The literary world," said he, "is made up of little 
confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the 
lights of the universe ; and considering all others as mere 
transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, 
while its own luminaries are to shine steadily on to 
immortality." 

"And pray," said I, "how is a man to get a peep into 
those confederacies you speak of? I presume an inter- 
course with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, 
where one must bring his commodities to barter, and 
always give a quid pro quo.'*'' ^ 

"Pooh, pooh! how you mistake," said Buckthorne, 
smiling; "you must never think to become popular among 
wits by shining. They go into society to shine them- 
selves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I once 

1 SometMng for something, an equivalent. 

145 



146 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

thought as yon do, and never went into literary society 
without studying my part beforehand; the consequence 
was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, and 
should in a little while have been completely excommuni- 
cated, had I not changed my plan of operations. No, sir, 
no character succeeds so well among wits as that of a good 
listener; or if ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a- 
t^te with an author, and then in praise of his own works, 
or, what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement of the 
works of his contemporaries. If ever he speaks favorably 
of the productions of a particular friend, dissent boldly 
from him ; pronounce his friend to be a blockhead ; never 
fear his being vexed. Much as people speak of the 
irritability of authors, I never found one to take offence 
at such contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are partic- 
ularly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. 

"Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing 
of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic 
observations on the most distinguished writers of the 
day." 

"Faith," said I, *'I'll praise none that have not been 
dead for at least half a century. ' ' 

"Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, "I would 
advise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know that 
many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of 
different sects, and their merits have become as completely 
topics of party discussion as the merits of living statesmen 
and politicians. Nay, there have been whole periods of 
literature absolutely taboo'd,^ to use a South Sea phrase. 
It is, for example, as much as a man's critical reputation 
is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise of any of 
the writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or even of 

^ We no longer need to qualify tlie word by telling its origin. 



LITERARY LIFE 147 

Queen Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in dis- 
guise."^ 

"And pray," said I, "When am I then to know that I 
am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the 
literary landmarks, and the boundary-line of fashionable 
taste?" 

"Oh!" replied he, "there is fortunately one tract of 
literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which 
all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the excess 
of their good-humor ; and this is in the reigns of Eliza- 
beth and James. Here you may praise away at random. 
Here it is *cut and come again;' ^ and the more obscure the 
author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the 
more your admiration wiU smack of the real relish of the 
connoisseur ; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always 
for game that has an antiquated flavor. 

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know 
something of literary society, I will take an opportunity to 
introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the day 
are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, that they 
will all be of the first order. Somehow or other, our 
great geniuses are not gregarious; they do not go in 
flocks, but fly singly in general society. They prefe: 
mingling like common men with the multitude, and are 
apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the 
reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd 
together, acquire strength and importance by their con- 
federacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of 
their species." 

^ At the time of these stories, about the year 1800, the romantic movement 
was in full swing and the writers of the period of Charles II. and of Queen 
Anne— Dryden and Pope and their followers — were much decried for their 
regularity and polish. The taste of the time preferred the more imagina- 
tive though less finished productions of Elizabethan literature. 

« The invitation of a host at table, indicating that there is an abundance 
for every one. 



148 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



A LITEEARY DINNERS 

A few days after this conversation with Mr. Buck- 
thorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a 
regular literary dinner. It was given by a great book- 
seller, or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm sur- 
passed in length that of Shadrach,^ Meshech, and 
Abednego. 

1 was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests 
assembled, most of whom I had n^ver seen before. Mr. 
Buckthorne explained this to me, by informing me that 
this was a business-dinner, or kind of field-day which the 
house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true 
they did occasionally give snug dinners to three or four 
literary men at a time; but then these were generally 
select authors, favorites of the public, such as had arrived 
at their sixth or seventh editions. "There are," said he, 
"certain geographical boundaries in the land of literature, 
and you may Judge tolerably well of an author's popularity 
by the wine his bookseller gives him. An author crosses 
the port line about the third edition, and gets into claret ; 
and when he has reached the sixth or seventh, he may 
revel in champagne and burgundy." 

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen 
have reached that I see around' me? are any of these 
claret- drinkers?" 

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great din- 

^The hint for this story of "A Literary Dinner " Irving got from his 
friend Thomas Moore. When Irving read the story to him, Moore said it was 
so true to the actual dinner, at which he had been present, that he feared 
his friends in Paternoster Row might recognize themselves in the picture. 
Cf. Life, Vol. I, p. 392. 

2 Daniel, Chap. III. Longmans was the name of the firm concerning 
which Moore told the original story. Is there a pun here on the name of 
the firm? 



A LITERARY DINNER 249 

ners the common steady run of authors, one or two edition 
men ; or if any others are invited, they are aware that it 
is a kind of republican meeting, — ^you understand me — a 
meeting of the republic of letters; and that they must 
expect nothing but plain, substantial fare. " 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 
arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied 
by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to have 
adopted Addison's idea ^ as to the literary precedence of 
his guests. A popular poet had the post of honor; 
opposite to whom was a hot- pressed ^ traveller in quarto 
with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who had pro- 
duced several solid works, that were much quoted and 
little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next 
to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a 
thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, 
that was getting into fashion. Several three- volumed 
'duodecimo men, of fair currency, were placed about the 
centre of the table; while the lower end was taken up 
with small poets, translators, and authors who had not as 
yet risen into much notoriety. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; 
breaking out here and there in various parts of the table 
in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who 
had the confidence of a man on good terms with the 
world, and independent of his bookseller, was very gay 
and brilliant, and said many clever things which set the 
partner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company. 
The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness, 
and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of 
business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. His 

* The Spectator, No. 529. What would be the order of precedence now-a- 
days? 

^ An allusion to the quality of the paper. 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. 
He informed me that the, concerns of the house were 
admirably distributed among the partners. '/Thus, for 
instance," said he, "the grave gentleman is the carving 
partner, who attends to the joints; and the other is the 
laughing partner, who attends to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to pos- 
sess the grea,test courage of the tongue. As to the crew 
at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in 
talking, they did in eating. Never was there a more 
determined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on the 
trencher than by this phalanx of masticators. When the 
cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate, they 
grew very merry and jocose among themselves. Their 
jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached the 
upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. 
Even the laughing partner did not think it necessary to 
honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor Buckthorne 
accounted for, by informing me that there was a certain 
degree of popularity to be obtained before a bookseller 
could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated 
below the salt,^ my eye singled out one in particular. He 
was rather shabbily dressed; though he had evidently 
made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt- 
frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the boeom. 
His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little too florid, 
particularly about the nose ; though the rosy hue gave the 
greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a little 

* On the medieval table a common salt cellar stood in the centre. Guests 
of high rank were seated ahove the salt cellar near the host, those of lower 
rank were seated below it. As used here the phrase means " toward the 
lower end of the table." 



A LITERARY DINNER li)l 

the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the poor 
devil in it which gives an inexpressible mellow tone to a 
man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer prom- 
ise; but never was promise so ill kept. He said nothing, 
ate and drank with the keen appetite of a garreteer, and 
scarcely stopped to laugh, even at the good jokes from 
the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was. 
Buckthorne looked at him attentively: "Gad," said he, 
"I have seen that face before, but where I cannot recol- 
lect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose 
some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign trave^.^." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and 
coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior 
guests, — authors of small volumes in boards, and pam- 
phlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet 
arrived to the importance of a dinner-invitation, but were 
invited occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. 
They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, 
seemed to stand a little in awe of them; but they paid 
devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extrav- 
agantly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel 
confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off 
in corners, talking to one another; or turned over port- 
folios of prints which they had not seen above five thou- 
sand times, or moused over the music on the forte-piano. 

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the persons 
most current and at their ease in the drawing-room ; being 
men evidently of circulation in the West End. ^ They got 
on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a thou- 
sand compliments and civilities, at some of which I 
thought she would have expired with delight. Every- 
thing they said and did had the odor of fashionable life. 

'■ The fashionable section of London, 



15^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

1 looked round in vain for the poor-devil author in tlie 
rusty black coat; he had disappeared immediately after 
leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring 
light of a drawing-room. . Finding nothing further to 
interest my attention, I took my departure soon after 
coSee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin, 
genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentleman, masters of the field. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 

I think it was the very next e\:ening that, in coming out 
of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend Buck- 
thorne, he proposed to give me another peep at life and 
character. Finding me willing for any research of the 
kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow courts 
and lanes about Covent Garden, until we stopped before a 
tavern, from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a 
jovial party. There would be a loud peal of laughter, then 
an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were tell- 
ing a story. After a little while there was a song, and at 
the close of each stanza a hearty roar, and a vehement 
thumping on the table. 

"This is the place," whispered Buckthorne; *'it is the 
club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits, 
third-rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. 
Any one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the 
use of the club." 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our 
seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner of the room. The 
club was assembled round a table, on which stood bever- 
ages of various kinds, according to the tastes of the indi- 
viduals. The members were a set of queer fellows 
indeed ; but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 153 

prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author whom I 
had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising 
face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, 
were entirely changed with him. There he w^s a mere 
cipher; here he was lord of the ascendant, the choice spirit, 
the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table 
with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously 
than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip for every one, 
and a good thing on every occasion. Nothing could be 
said or done without eliciting a spark from him : and I 
solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit even from 
noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were rather 
wet, but they suited the circle over which he presided. 
The company were in that maudlin mood, when a little 
wit goes a great way. Every time he opened his lips there 
was sure to be a roar ; and even sometimes before he had 
time to speak. 

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee 
composed by him expressly for the club, and which he 
sung with two boon companions, who would have been 
worthy subjects for Hogarth's ^ pencil. As they were 
each provided with a written copy, I was enabled to pro- 
cure the reading of it. 

* 'Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 
And merrily troll the glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass, 
So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 

"Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose. 
Until it right rosy shall be ; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 
Is a sign of good company." 

* An EngUsh painter who was especially successful in depicting scenes 
of loose life. 



154 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the 
wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched 
under it, and wide apart ; his hands in his breeches-pock- 
ets ; his head drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with 
lack-lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His gayety 
was gone, his fire completely quenched. 

My companion approached, and startled him from his 
fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength of 
their having dined together at the booksellers'. 

**By the way," said he, ''it seems to me 1 have seen 
you before ; your face is surely that of an old acquaint- 
ance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have 
known you." 

"Very likely," replied he, with a smile; "many of my 
old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, 
my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, 
however, it will assist your recollection in any way, my 
name is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 

"What! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's school 
in Warwickshire?" 

"The same," said the other, coolly. 

"Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though it's. no 
wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by 
several years ; don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne?" 

Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition, 
and a world of talk about old school-times and school- 
pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy 
sigh, "that times were sadly changed since those days." 

"Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a differ- 
ent man here from what you were at dinner. I had no 
idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were 
all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a 
roar." 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 155 

'*Ah! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the 
head, and a shrug of the shoulder, *'I am a mere glow- 
worm. I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard 
thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at a table of a 
rich bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at any- 
thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of 
the day about me? But here, though a poor devil, I am 
among still poorer devils than myself ; men who look up to 
me as a man of letters, and a bel-esprit, and all my jokes 
pass as sterling gold from the mint." 

"You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I; **I have 
certainly heard more good things from you this evening, 
than from any of those beaux-esprits by whom you appear 
to have been so daunted." 

**Ah, sir! but they have luck on their side; they are in 
the fashion — there's nothing like being in fashion. A 
man that has once got his character up for a wit is always 
sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as much 
nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current. No one 
stops to question the coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil 
cannot pass ofiP either a joke or a guinea, without its being 
examined on both sides. Wit and coin are always doubted 
with a threadbare coat. 

*'For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a 
little more on one side, — "for my part, I hate your fine 
dinners; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop- 
house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak and tankard 
among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison with 
your cursed civil, elegant company, who never laugh at a 
good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being vulgar. 
A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in low places, 
but withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once kept 
high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself ; I grew so 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but 
being arrested by my landlady, and thrown into prison; 
where a course of catch-clubs,^ eightpenny ale, and poor- 
devil company, manured my mind, and brought it back to 
itself again. ' ' 

As it was now growing late, we parted for the evening, 
though I fe)t anxious to know more of this practical 
philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne 
proposed to have another meeting, to talk over old school- 
times, and inquired his schoolmate's address. Tlie latter 
seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings ; but 
suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood — ''Green-arbor 

Court, sir," exclaimed lie — "Number in Green-arbor 

Court. You must know the place. Classic ground, sir, 
classic ground! It was there Goldsmith wrote his 'Vicar 
of Wakefield,' — I always like to live in literary haunts. " 

I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby 
quarters. On our way homeward, Buckthorne assured 
me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great 
wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those 
unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he 
perceived me curious respecting his old schoolmate, he 
promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to 
Green-arbor Court. 

A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and we 
set forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety 
of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages; for he 
appeared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate geog- 
raphy of the metropolis. At length we came out upon 
Fleet Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow street 
to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, called 
Break-neck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green- 

' Clubs formed for singing catches and various other part-songs. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 157 

arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might 
many a time have risked his neck. When we entered the 
court, I conld not but smile to think in what out-of-the- 
way corners genius produces her bantlings! And the 
muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often 
refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries 
in splendid studies, and gilded drawing-rooms, — what 
holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their favors 
on some ragged disciple ! 

This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square, 
surrounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intes- 
tines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from 
the old garments and frippery fluttering from every win- 
dow. It appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and 
lines were stretched about the little square, on which 
clothes were dangling to dry. 

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place 
between two viragoes about a disputed right to a wash- 
tub, and immediately the whole community was in a hub- 
bub. Heads in mob-caps popped out of every window, 
and such a clamor of tongues ensued, that I was fain to 
stop my ears. Every amazon took part with one or other 
of the disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping with 
soap-suds, and fired away from her window as from the 
embrazure of a fortress; while the swarms of children 
nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this 
hive, waking with the noise, set up iheir shrill pipes to 
swell the general concert. 

Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have had of it, 
with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up 
in this den of noise and vulgarity ! How strange, that, 
while every sight and sound was sufficient to embitter the 
heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be drop- 



158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ping the honey of Hybla ' Yet it is more than probable 
that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of low life 
from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. 
The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs ^ being obliged to wash 
her husband's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who 
refused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport of 
fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His land- 
lady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs's scanty 
wardrobe have been o, facsimile of his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to 
Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a 
room that looked upon the court ; and when we entered, 
he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken 
table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor- 
devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first 
appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a 
little higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he 
recollected himself in an instant; gave a half swagger, 
half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three- 
legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lum- 
bering old damask chair, that looked like a dethroned 
monarch in exile; and bade us welcome to his garret. 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and 
he had much to say about early school-scenes; and as 
nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections of 
the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his 
literary career, 

THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 

I began life unluckily by being the wag and bright fel- 
low at school ; and I had the further misfortune of becom- 

» See Goldsmith's Citizen of the World, Nos. liv. and Iv., in which the epl- 
sotie referred to is related. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 159 

ing the great genius of my native village. My father was 
a country attorney, and intended I should succeed him in 
business; but I had too much genius to study, and Jie was 
too fond of my genius to force it into the traces ; so I fell 
into bad company, and took to bad habits. Do not mis- 
take me. I mean that I fell into the company of village- 
literati,^ and village-blues, and took to writing 
village-poetry. 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. 
There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who assem- 
bled frequently together, formed ourselves into a Literary, 
Scientific, and Philosophical Society, and fancied ourselves 
the most learned Philos ^ in existence. Every one had a 
great character assigned him, suggested by some casual 
habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an enor- 
mous quantity of tea, rolled in his arm-chair, talked sen- 
tentiously, pronounced dogmatically, and was considered 
a second Dr. Johnson; another, who happened to be a 
curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and 
was the Swift of our association. Thus we had also our 
Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons ; and a blue-stocking 
lady, whose drawing-room we frequented, who corre- 
sponded about nothing with all the world, and wrote letters 
with the stiffness and formality of a printed book, was 
cried up as another Mrs. Montagu.^ I was, by common 
consent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the 
great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through 
whom it was to become one day as celebrated as Stratford- 
on-Avon. 

* "Literati " was formerly used, e. g. by Poe in his critical essays, where 
we now say men of letters. "Village-blues" means "village blue-stockings." 
« Amateurs or lovers of literature and science. 

' Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1689-1762), a learned and brilliant woman, 
was the friend and correspondent of Pope and other well-known men of 
that period. 



160 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

My father died, and left me his blessing and his Dusi- 
ness. His blessing brought no money into my pocket: 
and as to his business, it soon deserted me ; for I was busy 
writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and my 
clients, though they had great respect for my talents, had 
no faith in a poetical attorney. 

I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and 
finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melancholy,^ 
and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The 
Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures of Hope, and the 
Pleasures of Memory, though each had placed its author 
in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. 
Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from beginning to 
end. It was pronounced by all the members of the Liter- 
ary, Scientific, -and Philosophical Society the greatest 
poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it would 
make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the 
London booksellers would be mad after it ; and the only 
fear of my friends was, that I would make a sacrifice by 
selling it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter 
over, they increased the price. They reckoned up the 
great sums given for the poems of certain popular writers, 
and determined that mine was worth more than all put 
together, and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my 
part, I was modest in my expectations, and determined 
that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I 
put my poem in my pocket, and set off for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my 
purse/and my head full of anticipations of fame and for- 
tune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon 

" A poem called Pleasures of Melancholy was actually "written by Thomas 
Warton, 1747. The Pleasures of Imagination was written by Mark Akenside; 
The Pleasures of Hope by Thomas Campbell; and The Pleasures of Memory 
by Samuel Rogers. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 161 

old London from the heights of Highgate! I was like a 
general, looking down upon a place he expects to conquer. 
The great metropolis lay stretched before me, buried under 
a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it 
from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a 
kind of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of the 
city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased 
until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched 
uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of 
St. Paul's^ swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I 
pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies 
about its base. How soon should the Pleasures of Melan- 
choly throw this world of booksellers and printers into a 
bustle of business and delight ! How soon should I hear 
my name repeated by printers' devils throughout Pater- 
noster Eow,^ and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, 
until Amen Corner should echo back the sound! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashion- 
able publisher. Every new author patronizes him of 
course. In fact, it had been determined in the village 
circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell 
you how vain-gloriously I walked the streets. My head 
was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing about 
it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of literary 
glory. As I passed by the windows of book-shops, 1 
anticipated the time when my work would be shining 
among the hot-pressed wonders of the day; and my face, 
scratched on copper, or cut on wood, figuring in fellow- 
ship with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. 

1 St. Paul's Cathedral, -which lies in the heart of the city, is plainly visible, 
from Highgate, a hill on the northern outskirts of the city. 

' Still a bookseller's section of London near St. Paul's Cathedral. Ti«< 
other places mentioned are all in the same vicinity. 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

When J. applied at the publisher's house, there was 
something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of 
my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They 
doubtless took me for some person of consequence; prob- 
ably a digger of Greek roots, or a penetrator of pyramids. 
A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing char- 
acter in the world of letters ; one must feel intellectually 
secure before he can venture to dress shabbily; none but 
a great genius, or a great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so I 
was ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum ^ of this 
high-priest of Minerva. 

The publishing of books is a very different affair nowa- 
days from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot.^ I 
found the publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an 
elegant drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits 
of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound 
books. He was writing letters at an elegant table. This 
was transacting business in style. The place seemed 
suited to the magnificent publications that issued from it. 
I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I 
always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port I 
had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle ; 
though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such 
as one feels when about to make a man's fortune. The 
publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed wait- 
ing in mute suspense to know what was to be announced 
by so singular an apparition. 

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had 
but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, 
and the name of my poem ; produced my precious roll of 

1 Holy of holies. 

« An English publisher of the first half of the 18th century. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 163 

blotted manuscript; laid it on the table with an emphasis; 
and told him at once, to save time, and come directly to 
the point, the price was one thousand guineas. 

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so 
inclined. He continued looking at me for a moment 
with an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from 
head to foot; looked down at the manuscript, then up 
again at me, then pointed to a chair; and whistling softly 
to himself, went on writing his letter. 

I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was 
making up his mind; but he only paused occasionally to 
take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of 
his nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident 
his mind was intently occupied upon some other subject; 
but I had no idea that any other subject could be attended 
to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had sup- 
posed that everything would make way for the ** Pleasures 
of Melancholy." 

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my 
manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of 
the room ; making some noise as I went out, to let my 
departure be heard. The publisher, however, was too 
much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was 
suffered to walk down-stairs without being called back. I 
sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after 
me ; nor did the publisher call after me from the draw- 
ing-room window. I have been told since, that he con- 
sidered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to 
judge how much he was in the wrong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner, my crest fell. I cooled 
down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my 
terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had 
no better success ; nor with a third, nor with a fourth. I 



164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves, 
but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me 
poetry was a mere drug ; everybody wrote poetry ; the 
market was overstocked with it. And then they said, the 
title of my poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all 
kinds were worn threadbare, nothing but horrors did 
nowadays, and even those were almost worn out. Tales 
of Pirates, Robbers, and bloody Turks, might answer tol- 
erably well ; but then they must come from some estab- 
lished, well-known name, or the public would not look at 
them. 

At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to 
read it, and judge for himself. *'Why, really, my dear 

Mr. a — a — I forget your name," said he, casting his 

eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, "really sir, we 
are so pressed with business jnst now, and have so ipany 
manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time to 
look at any new productions; but if you can call again in 
a week or two, or say the middle of next month, we may 
be able to look over your writings, and give you an 
answer. Don't forget, the month after next; good morn- 
ing, sir; happy to see you any time you are passing this 
way." So saying, he bowed me out in the civilest way 
imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competition 
to secure my poem, I could not even get it read ! In the 
meantime I was harrassed by letters from my friends, 
wanting to know when the work was to appear; who was 
to be my publisher; and above all things, warning me not 
to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined to 
publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph ovei 
the booksellers when it should become the fashion of the 
day. 1 accordingly published the ''Pleasures of Melan- 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 165 

choly," — and ruined myself. Excepting the copies sent 
to the reyiews, and to my friends in the country, not one, 
I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. The 
printer's bill drained my purse; and the only notice that 
was taken of my work was contained in the advertisements 
paid for by myself. 

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as 
usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the 
want of taste in the public; and could have made the 
usual appeal to posterity; but my village friends would 
not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to 
themselves feasting with the great, communing with the 
literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 
Every little while, some one would call on me with a letter 
of introduction from the village circle, recommending 
him to my attentions, and requesting that I would make 
him known in society; with a hint, that an introduction 
to a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely 
agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my lodg- 
ings, drop my correspondence, and disappear altogether 
from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I was 
anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no 
means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem 
was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. 
It no longer read for instruction. **They want horrors, 
do they?" said I: *'I'faith! then they shall have enough 
of them. " ^ So I looked out for some quiet, retired place, 
where I might be out of the reach of my friends, and 
have leisure to cook up some delectable dish of poetical 
**hell-broth." 



1 In this passage characterizing the popular literature of the period, Irving 
probably had in mind such writers as Mrs. Radcliffe, whose Mysteries oj 
UdolpJvo appeared in 1794, and M. G. Lewis, generally referred to from his 
first story, The Monk, 1795, as Monk Lewis. Lewis's Romantic Tales appeared 
In 1808. 



166 ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind^ 
when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. 
It was an ancient brick tower, hard by ''merry Isling- 
ton"; the remains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, 
where she took the pleasure of the country when the 
neighborhood was all woodland. What gave it particular 
interest in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been 
the residence of a poet. 

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his 
"Deserted Village." I was shown the very apartment. 
It was a relic of the original style of the castle, with pan- 
elled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased with 
its air of antiquity, and with its having been the residence 
of poor Goldy.^ 

"Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, *'a very 
pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not 
think and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowadays; 
but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot 
heads, he would no doubt have written quite differently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new 
quarters; my books all arranged; my writing desk placed 
by a window looking out into the fields; and I felt as 
snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his bower. 

For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of the change 
and the charms which grace new lodgings, before one has 
found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I 
fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Isling- 
ton; ate my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, 
According to tradition, was a country-seat of Sir Walter 
Raleigh ; and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old 
times, in a quaint old room, where many a council had 
been held. 

» The not. yery dignified nickname of Goldsmith. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 16? 

All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated 
by novelty ; inspired by the associations awakened in my 
oaind by these curious haunts; and began to think I felt 
the spirit of composition stirring within me. But Sunday 
came, and with it the whole city^ world, swarming about 
Oanonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I 
was stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket- 
ground ; the late quiet road beneath my window was alive 
with the tread of feet and clack of tongues ; and, to com- 
plete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was abso- 
lutely a "show-house," the tower and its contents being 
shown to strangers at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of citizens 
and thfeir families, to look about the country from the 
top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through 
the telescope, to try if they could discern their own 
<)himneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, 
ir a moment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my 
ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at 
the door, and asking me if I would **just please to let a lady 
and gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's 
room." If you know anything of what an author's 
study is, and what an author is himself, you must know 
that there was no standing this. I put positive interdict 
on my room's being exhibited; but then it was shown 
when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion; 
and, on returning home one day, I absolutely found a 
cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over my 
manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my appear- 
ance. I tried to make out a little longer, by taking the 
key in my pocket; but it would not do. I overheard 

1 Technically the small central section of London; we should call ittl»« 
down-town section. 



168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

mine hostess one day telling some of her customers on the 
stairs, that the room was occupied by an author, who was 
always in a tantrum if interrupted; and I immediately 
perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were 
peeping at me through the key-hole. By the head of 
Apollo, but this was quite too much! With all my eager- 
ness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a 
head, and that through a key-hole. So I bid adieu to 
Canon bury Castle, merry Islington, and the haunts of 
poor Goldsmith, without having advanced a single line in 
my labors. 

My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cottage, 
which stands not far from Hampstead, just on the brow of 
a hill, looking over Chalk Farm and Camden Town, 
remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red Cap and 
Mother Black Cap ; and so across CrackskuU Common to 
the distant city. 

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself; but I 
regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of 
a persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated, 
and laid perdu, ^ when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs 
— tiiose immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited 
gentlemen; and here he had written many numbers of 
the *' Spectator." It was hence, too, that he had dis- 
patched those little notes^ to his lady, so full of affection 
and whimsicality, in which the fond husband, the careless 
gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly 
blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window of 

» "Hidden;" literally, "lost." 

2 The notes referred to are letters, Avritten by Steele both before and after 
his marriage to her, to Mary Scurlock, whom he frequently addressed as 
Mistress Prue. The letters, which are to be found in any collection of Steele's 
works or in the Life by Austin Dobson, English Men of Letters series, are 
charming reading and are well characterized by Irving in this passage. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 169 

his apartment, that I could sit within it and write 
volumes. 

No- such thing! It was haymaking season, and, as ill 
luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was 
a little ale-house, with the sign of the Load o| Hay. 
Whether it was there in Steele's time, I cannot say; but 
it set all attempts at conception or inspiration at defiance. 
It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the 
broad fields in the neighborhood; and of drovers and 
teamsters who travel that road. Here they would gather 
in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the 
harvest moon, and sit around a table at the door; and 
tipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy 
songs, and dawdle away the hours, until the deep solemn 
notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the varlets home. 

In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad 
summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and 
the perfume of the new-mown hay brought with it the 
recollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining 
in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose 
Hill, and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's Fields, 
and all those Arcadian scenes so celebrated by London 
bards. I cannot tell you how many delicious hours I have 
passed', lying on the cocks of new-mown hay, on the pleas- 
ant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance 
of the fields, while the summer-fly buzzed about me, or 
the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; and how I have 
gazed with half-shut'eye upon the smoky mass of London, 
and listened to the distant sound of its population, and 
pitied the poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like 
Gnomes in the '*dark gold-mines." 

People may say what they please about cockney pas- 
torals, but, after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty 



i70 ^ALES OF A TRAVELLER 

about the western vicinity of London ; and any one that 
has looked down upon the valley of the West End, with 
its soft bosom of green pasturage lying open to the south, 
and dotted with cattle; the steeple of Hampstead rising 
among rich groves on the brow of the hill; and the 
learned height of Harrow^ in the distance; will confess 
that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape 
in the vicinity of a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off 
for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I began to dis- 
cover, that in literature, as in trade, the old proverb 
holds good, "a rolling stone gathers no moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very 
vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into 
the termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the 
■smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder; and 
-the smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of 
iheroes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of 
mothing but dulcet subjects, **the Pleasures of Spring'* 
— ^*'the Pleasures of Solitude" — "the Pleasures of Tran- 
quillity" — "the Pleasures of Sentiment" — nothing but 
ipleasures; and I had the painful experience of "the 
(Pleasures of Melancholy" too strongly in my recollection 
to be beguiled by them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently, in 
•my ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is 
a kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I 
occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's ^ Castle. It is 
a country inn so named ; the very spot where that notorious 
rebel and his followers held their council of war. It is a fav- 

1 A Mil and town about ten miles northwest of London; in the town is 
•situated arfamous old school. 

2 A wellrknown figure In English legend; he was an associate of Wat 
iTyler in the rebellion of 1381. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR ITl 

orite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands 
fine fresh air, and a good view of the city. I sat one day 
in the public room of this inn, ruminating over a beef- 
steak and a pint of porter, when my imagination kindled 
up with ancient and heroic images. I had long wanted 
a theme and a hero; hoth suddenly broke upon my mind. 
I determined to write a poem on the history of Jack 
Straw. I was so full of the subject, that I was fearful 
of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets 
of the day in their search after ruffian heroes, had never 
thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pell-mell, blotted 
several sheets of paper with choice floating thoughts, and 
battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's 
warning. In a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton 
of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to give it flesh 
and blood. I used to take my manuscript and stroll about 
Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and would dine at the Cas- 
tle, by way of keeping up the vein of thought: 

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public 
room. There was no other company but one man, who sat 
enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and noticing 
the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shooting-coat. 
His countenance was strongly marked : he had a hooked 
nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had something of 
a squint; and altogether, as I thought, a poetical style of 
head. I was quite taken with the man, for you must 
know I am a little of a physiognomist ; I set him down 
at once for either a poet or a philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every 
man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conversa- 
tion with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by 
no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I joined 
him at the window, and we became so sociable that I 



17^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he most 
cheerfully assented. 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the 
subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, 
^nd the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaint- 
ance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump 
exactly with my humor in every respect. I became 
elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the ful- 
ness of an author's feelings, I told him of my projected 
poem, and repeated some passages, and he was in rap- 
tures. He was evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

''Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, "our 
poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go 
out of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. 
I like your Jack Straw, sir, — he's a home-made hero. I 
like him, sir — I like him exceedingly. He's English to 
the backbone — damme — Give me honest old England 
after all! Them's my sentiments, sir." 

"I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously; "it is 
exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian 
for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipelago ;^ 
but it is hard to make our poets think so." 

"More shame for them!" replied the man in green. 
"What a plague would they have? Whafc have we to do 
with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany? Haven't 
we heaths and commons and highways on our own little 
island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them 
too? Stick to home, I say, — them's my sentiments. — 
Come, sir, my service to you — I agree with you perfectly." 

"Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject," 
continued I; "witness the fine old ballads about Robin 

J The Grrecian Archipelago appeared frequently in English poetry of this 
■iSate. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 173 

Hood,* Allan a'Dale, and other staunch blades of 
yore." 

"Eight, sir, right," interrupted he; *'Eobin Hood! he 
was the lad to cry stand! to a man, and never to flinch." 

**Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbere 
in the good old times; those were glorious poetical days. 
The merry crew of Sherood Forest, who led such a roving 
picturesque life, *under the greenwood tree.'^ I have 
often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes 
of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Olymm of the Clough,, 
and Sir William of Cloudeslie." 

*' Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, **we have had 
several very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant 
dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood 
of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Blackheath, 
for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. You don't 
drink." 

*'I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, *'I suppose- 
yon have heard of the famous Turpin,^ who was born in 
this very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk with 
his gang in Epping Forest about a hundred years since?" 
> *'Have I?" cried he, **to be sure I have! A hearty 
old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Turpentine ! as we 
used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." 

*'Well, sir," continued I, **I have visited Waltham 
Abbey and Chingford Church merely from the stories I 
heard when a boy of his exploits there, and I have 
searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used, to 
conceal himself. You must know," added I, **that I am 

1 Robin Hood and the other persons mentioned here are characters in 
English hallad literature. The ballads are accessible in various forms; e.g. 
AUingham, Golden Treasury Series, Ballad Book; Giinimere, Old English 
Ballads; Child, English and Scottish Ballads. 

2 Prom a song in As Tou Like It, Act II. Sc. 5. 

3 Dick Turpin, who is here turned into a valorous knight-errant was a 
notorious highwayman executed in 1739. 



174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing 
daring fellows: the best apologies that we had for the 
knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir! the country has been 
sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace. We 
are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of 
the Post have all dwindled down into lurking footpads, 
and sneaking pickpockets ; there's no such thing as a 
dashing, gentleman-like robbery committed nowadays on 
the King's highway: a man may roll from one end of 
England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling post- 
chaise, without any other adventure than that of being 
occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, or hav- 
ing an ill-cooked dinner. We hear no more of public 
coaches being stopped and robbed by a well -mounted gang 
of resolute fellows, with pistols in their hands, and crapes 
over their faces. What a pretty poetical incident was it, 
for example, in domestic life, for a family-carriage, on its 
way to a country-seat, to be attacked about dark; the old 
gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their 
necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely-spoken highwayman 
on a blood-mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and 
galloped across the country, to the admiration of Miss 
Caroline, the daughter, who would write a long and roman- 
tic account of the adventure to her friend, Miss Juliana, 
in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with nothing of such inci- 
dents nowadays. " 

**That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a 
pause, when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a 
glass of wine which he had just poured out, "that, sir, 
craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old 
English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of 
banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they 
did formerly. They have post-notes, and drafts on 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 175 

bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where 
you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your 
pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a 
Spanish galleon. It turned out the yellow boys * bravely. 
And a private carriage was a cool hundred or two at least. " 

1 cannot express how much I was delighted with the 
sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often 
frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more 
of me ; and I proposed myself many a pleasant afternoon 
with him, when I should read him my poem as it proceeded, 
and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evident he had the 
true poetical feeling. 

"Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle: "Damme, I 
like you! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed 
slow in making new acquaintances.. One must be on the 
reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your 
kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's 
my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's 
health! I presume one can drink it nowadays without 
treason!" 

"With all my heart," said I, gayly, "and Dick Tur- 
pin's into the bargain!" 

"Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the kind 
of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar,^ sir! the 
Newgate Calendar is your only reading! There's the 
place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows." 

"We were so much pleased with each other that we sat 
until a late hour, I insisted on paying the bill, for both 
my purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he 
should pay the score at our next meeting. As the 
coaches had all gone that run between Hampsfcead and 

» Gold coins. 

2 The list of the famous criminals of Newgate prison. 



176 TALES OF A TRAVELLEK 

London, we had to return on foot. He was so delighted 
with the idea of my poem, that he could talk of nothing 
else. He made me repeat such passages as I could 
remember; and though I did it in a very mangled 
manner, having a wretched memory, yet he was in rap- 
tures. 

Every now and then he would break out with some scrap 
which he would misquote most terribly, would rub his 
hands and exclaim, "By Jupiter, that's fine, that's noble! 
Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit upon such 
ideas!" 

I must confess I did not always relish his misquota- 
tions, which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the 
passages ; but what author stands upon trifles when he is 
praised? 

Never had I spent a more delightful evening. I did noo 
perceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, 
but continued walking on, arm in arm, with him, past my 
lodgings, through Camden Town, and across Crackskull 
Common, talking the whole way about my poem. 

When we were half-way across the common, he inter- 
rupted me in the midst of a quotation, by telling me that 
this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still 
occasionally infested by them ; and that a man had recently 
been shot there in attempting to defend himself. — "The 
more fool he!" cried I; "a man is an idiot to risk life, or 
^ven limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's quite a 
different case from that of a duel, where one's honor is 
concerned. For my part," added I, "I should never 
think of making resistance against one of those despera- 
does." 

"Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning sud- 
denly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast; *'why. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 17? 

then, have at you, my lad! — come — disburse! empty! 
unsack!''- 

In a word, I found that the muse had played me 
another of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the 
hands of a footpad. There was no time to parley 5 he 
made me turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the 
sound of distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop ^ 
upon purse, watch, and all ; gave me a thwack on my 
unlucky pate that laid me sprawling- on the ground, and 
scampered away with his booty. 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two 
afterwards ; when I caught sight of his poetical counten- 
ance among a crew of scapegraces heavily ironed, who were 
on the way for transportatioUo He recognized me at 
once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how I 
came on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 

The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an end to 
my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical 
enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I was 
put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse, I 
was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every 
farthing I had in thQ world. So I abandoned Sir Richard 
Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebratedj 
though no less poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in 
town, 

I now determined to cultivate the society of the literary, 
and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It 
is by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that 
authors strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up with 
glorious conceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious 
complaint. I will keep company with poets ; who knows 
but I may catch it as others have done? 

» Macbeth, IV. iiL 3ia 



178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary 
acquaintances, not having the sin of success lying at my 
door : indeed the failure of my poem was a kind of recom- 
mendation to their favor. It is true my new friends were 
not of the most brilliant names in literature ; but then if 
you would take their words for it, they were like the 
prophets of old, men of whom the world was not worthy ; 
and who were to live in future ages, when the ephemeral 
favorites of the day should be forgotten. 

I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled in 
literary society, the less I felt capable of writing; that 
poetry was not so catching as I imagined; and that in 
familiar life there was often nothing less poetical than a 
poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit de corps ^ to turn these 
literary fellowships to any account. I could not bring 
myself to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something 
to like in them all, but found that would never do, for 
that the tacit condition on which a man enters into one 
of these sects is, that he abuses all the rest. 

I perceived that there were little knots of authors who 
lived with, and for, and by one another. They consid- 
ered themselves the salt of the earth. They fostered and 
kept up a conventional vein of thinking and talking, and 
joking on all subjects; and they cried each other up to the 
skies. Each sect had its particular creed; and set up 
certain authors as divinities, and fell down and wor- 
shipped them; and considered every one who did not 
worship them, or who worshipped any other, as a heretic, 
and an infideL 

In quoting the writers of the day I generally founcl 
them extolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and 
talking slightingly of others who were the favorites of tbQ 

' Cass feeling ; fellow feeling with other members of a body of men. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 179 

public. If I mentioned any recent work from the pen of 
a first-rate author, they had not read it ; they had not 
time to read all that was spawned from the press; he. 
wrote too much to write well; — and then they would 
break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Tom- 
son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the pres- 
ent day, but who was to be the wonder and delight of 
posterity! Alas! what heavy debts is this neglectful 
world daily accumulating on the shoulders of poor pos- 
terity ! 

But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what con- 
tempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how 
immeasurably the great are despised by tlie small fry of 
literature! It is true, an exception was now aad then 
made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had 
casually shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed at 
a public dinner, and was pronounced a *' devilish good 
fellow," and "no humbug"; but, in general, it was 
enough for a man to have a title, to be the object of their 
sovereign disdain: you have no idea how poetically and 
philosophically they would talk of nobility. 

For my part, this affected me but little ; for though I 
had no bitterness against the great, and did not think the 
worse of a man for having innocently been born to a title, 
yet I did not feel myself at present called upon to resent 
the indignities poured upon them by the little. But the 
hostility to the great writers of the day went sore against 
the grain with me. I could not enter into such feuds, 
nor participate in such animosities. I had not become 
author sufficiently to hate other authors. I coald still 
find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could find 
it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though he 
were successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my taste,. 



180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and could not confine it to any age or growth of writers. 
I could turn with delight from the glowing pages of 
Byron to the cool and polished raillery of Pope; and after 
wandering among the sacred groves of "Paradise Lost,'' I 
could give myself up to voluptuous abandonment in the 
enchanted bowers of "Lalla Rookh." ^ 

"I would have my authors," said I, "as various as my 
wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy, would 
never decry the sparkling and exhilirating. Port and 
Sherry are excellent standbys, and so is Madeira; but 
Claret and Burgundy may be drunk now and then with- 
out disparagement to one's palate, and Champagne is a 
beverage by no means to be despised." 

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little 
flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with 
something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever 
one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer 
and hated Pope ; so my figure about wines went for noth- 
ing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as down- 
right heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like a free- 
thinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and fair 
game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences of 
not hating in literature. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the 
residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with 
a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus; 
of the poems I have written which were never printed, 
the plays I have presented which were never performed, 
and the tracts I have published which were never pur- 
chased. It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the 
very public, had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. 
Still I could not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, 

'• A long narrative poem on an Oriental subject by Thomas Moore. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR iOi 

nor abandon those dreams of renown in which I had 
indulged. How should I be able to look the literary 
circle of my native village in the face, if I were so com- 
pletely to falsify their predictions? For some time longer, 
therefore, I continued to write for fame, and was, of 
course, the most miserable dog in existence, besides being 
in continual risk of starvation. I accumulated loads of 
literary treasure on my shelves — loads which were to be 
treasures to posterity; but, alas! they put not a penny 
into my purse. What was all this wealth to my present 
necessities? I could not patch my elbows with an ode ; 
nor satisfy my hunger with blank verse. *' Shall a man 
fill his belly with the east wind?" ^ says the proverb. He 
may as well do so as with poetry. 

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a 
sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and 
looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the 
town, and seen through the kitchen-windows the fires 
gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits and 
dripping with gravy, and the cook-maids beating up pud- 
dings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment that 
if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, 
Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heights of 
Parnassus for me. Oh, sir! talk of meditations among 
the tombs, — they are nothing so melancholy as the medi- 
tations of a poor devil without a penny in pouch, along a 
line of kitchen-windows towards dinner-time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, 
the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I, was 
not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had sup- 
posed. It was the salvation of me. The moment the 
idea popped into my brain it brought conviction and com- 

» Joh XV., 2. 



182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

fort with it. I awoke as from a dream : I gave np immor- 
tal fame to those who could live on air; took to writing 
for mere bread ; and have ever since had a very tolerable 
life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his ease, 
sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I had to 
train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short at 
first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in spite 
of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite 
extreme, and abandoning the higher regions of the craft, 
I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. 

"Creeper! and pray what is that?" said I. 

**0h, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the 
craft; a creeper is one who furnisheg the newspapers with 
paragraphs at so much a line ; and who goes about in 
quest of misfortunes ; attends the Bow Street Office ; ^ the 
Courts of Justice, and every other den of mischief and 
iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and 
as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper, 
we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now 
and then the Muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly 
quiet, and then we rather starve; and sometimes the 
unconscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they 
are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or three- 
pence at a go. I have many a time had my pot of porter 
snipped off my dinner in this way, and have had to dine 
with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I rose 
gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now, I 
think, in the most comfortable region of literature." 

**And pray," said I, "what may you be at present?" 

"At present," said he, "I am a regular job-writer, and 
turn my hand to anything. I work up the writings of 
others at so much a sheet, turn off translations; write 

•- — II I I ^> I ■ ■iiiiii.i... II 1^ 

» The Bow Street police court. 



NOTORIETY 183 

second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines; 
compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criti- 
cisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you per- 
ceive, is anonymous; it gives me no reputation, except 
among the trade; where I am considered an author of all 
work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only 
reputation I want. I sleep soundly, withput dread of 
duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that 
choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, 
the only happy author in this world is he who is below the 
care of reputation. " 



NOTORIETY 

When we had emerged from the literary nest of honest 
x^ribble, and had passed safely through the dangers of 
Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, 
Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the peep 
into literary life which he had furnished me. 

I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a world 
from what I had imagined. "It is always so,'* said he, 
"with strangers. The land of literature is a fairy land to 
those who view it at a distance, but, like all other land- 
scapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the 
thorns and briars become visible. The republic of letters 
is the most factious and discordant of all republics, ancient 
or modem." 

. "Yet," said I, smiling, "you would not have me take 
honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is 
but a mousing owl ; a mere groundling. We should have 
quite a different strain from one of those fortunate 
authors whom we see sporting about the empyreal heights 



184: TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a summer's 
day." 

*' Perhaps we might," replied he, "but I doubt it. I 
doubt whether, if any one, even of the most successful, 
were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the 
truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to repu- 
tation. One you would find carrying a gay facfe to the 
world, while some vulture critic was preying upon his very 
liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake fash- 
ion for fame, you would find watching countenances, and 
cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the 
heau monde * than the world of letters, and apt to be ren- 
dered wretched by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a 
dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame, you 
would find tormented with anxiety to get higher; and 
those who had gained the summit, in constant apprehen- 
sion of a decline. 

"Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of noto- 
riety, and the farce of fashion, are not much better off, 
being incessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure, 
and interruptions of their pursuits; for, whatever may be 
his feelings, when once an author is launched into noto- 
riety, he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of 
the day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way 
for some new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know 
but he is most fortunate who engages in the whirl through 
ambition, however tormenting; as it is doubly irksome to 
be obliged to join in the game without being interested in 
the stake. 

"There is a constant demand in the fashionable world 

for novelty ; .every nine days must have its wonder, no 

. matter of what kind. At one time it is an author; at 

» The fashionable world. 



NOTORIETY 185 

another, a fire-eater; at another, a composer, an Indian 
juggler, or an Indian chief; a man from the North Pole 
or the Pyramids; each figures through his brief term of 
notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding wonder. 
You must know that we have oddity fanciers among our 
ladies of rank, who collect about them all kinds of remark- 
able beings ; fiddlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, ' 
philosophers, actors, and poets; every kind of personage, 
in short, who is noted for something peculiar; so that 
their routs are like fancy-balls, where every one comes 
*in character.' 

*'I have had infinite amusement at these parties in 
noticing how industriously every one was playing a part, 
and acting out of his natural line. There is not a more 
complete game at cross purposes than the intercourse of 
the literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always 
anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentleman. 

'*I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and 
talk learnedly with a man of letters, who was aiming at a 
fashionable air, and the tone of a man who had lived about 
town. The peer quoted a score, or two learned authors, 
.,with whom he would fain be thought intimate, while the 
author talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and 
extolled the Burgundy he had drunk at Lord Such-a- 
one's. Each seemed to forget that he could only be inter- 
esting to the other in his proper character. Had the peer 
been merely a man of erudition, the author would never 
have listened to his prosing; and had the author known 
all the nobility in the Court Calendar, it would have 
given him no interest in the eyes of the peer. 

"In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable 
for beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, 
while the philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, 



186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

played with her fan, and prattled about the opera. I 
have heard a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a 
statesman about the national debt ; and on joining a knot 
of scientific old gentlemen oonversing in a corner, expect- 
ing to hear the discussion of some valuable discovery, I 
found they were only amusing themselves with a fat story. " 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 

The anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early 
schoolmate, together with a variety of peculiarities which 
I had remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to 
Jinow something of his own history. I am a traveller of 
the good old school, and am fond of the custom laid 
down in books, according to which, whenever travellers 
met, they sat down forthwith, and gave a history of them- 
selves and their adventures. This Buckthorne, too, was 
a man much to my taste; he had seen the world, and min- 
gled with society, yet retained the strong eccentricities of 
a man who had lived much alone. There was a careless 
dash of good-humor about him, which pleased me 
exceedingly; and at times an odd tinge of melancholy 
mingled with his humor, and gave it an additional zest. 
He was apt to run into long speculations, upoiy society and 
manners, and to indulge in whimsical views of human 
nature; yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. 
It ran more upon the follies than the vices of mankind; 
and even the follies of his fellow-man were treated with 
the leniency of one who felt himself to be but frail. He 
had evidently been a little chilled and buffeted by fortune 
without being soured thereby: as some fruits become 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 187 

mellower and more generous in their flavor from having 
been bruised and frost-bitten. 

I have always had a great relish for the conversation of 
practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited 
by the "sweet uses" ^ of adversity without imbibing its 
bitterness; who have learned to estimate the world 
rightly, yet good-humoredly; and who, while they per- 
ceive the truth of the saying, that **all is vanity," are yet 
able to do so without vexation of spirit. 

Such a man was Buckthorne. In general a laughing 
philosopher; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole 
across his brow, it was but transient ; like a summer 
cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the 
fields over which it passes. 

I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gar- 
dens, — for he was a knowing epicure in all the cheap 
pleasures and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. 
It was a delightful warm morning in spring; and he was 
in the happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned 
loose into grass and sunshine. He had been watching 
a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and yellow-cups, 
had sung his way up to a bright snowy cloud floating in 
the deep blue sky. 

** Of all birds," said he, "I should like to be a lark. 
He revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest 
season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening 
flowers ; and when he has sated himself with the sweetness 
of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven as if he would 
drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to that 
note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear ! What 
a stream of music, note falling over note, in delicious 
cadence! Who would trouble his head about operas and 

» A$ You Like It, II. i. 12. 



188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

concerts when he could walk in the fields and hear such 
music for nothing? These are the enjoyments which set 
viches at scorn, and make even a poor man independent : 

" 'I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: 

You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; 

You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve' — ' 

**Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth all the 
wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, 
and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received in time 
of trouble, was from hearing the notes of the lark. " 

I profited by this communicative vein to intimate to 
Buckthorne a wish to know something of the events of his 
life, which I fancied must have been an eventful one. 

He smiled when I expressed my desire. *'I have no 
great story," said he, *Ho relate. A mere tissue of errors 
and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch 
of it, by which you may judge of the rest." And so, 
without any further prelude, he gave me the following 
anecdotes of his early adventures. 



BUCKTHORNE: OR THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT 
EXPECTATIONS 

I was born to very little property, but to great expecta- 
tions — which is, perhaps, one of the most unlucky fortunes 
a man can be born to. My father was a country gentle-. 
man, the last of a very ancient and honorable, but decayed 
family, and resided in an old hunting-lodge in Warwick- 

» From Thomson's Castle of Indolence, Canto 11. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 189 

shire. He was a keen sportsman, and lived to the extent 
of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect 
from that quarter; but then I had a rich uncle by the 
mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmudgeon, 
who it was confidently expected would make me his heir, 
because he was an old bachelor, because I was named after 
Aim, and because he hated all the world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in 
misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. 
Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never 
forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he 
had a cold, still, immovable pique, which had lain at the 
bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since they 
had been school -boys together. My mother, however, 
considered me as the intermediate being that was to bring 
everything again into harmony, for she looked upon mo 
as a prodigy — God bless her! my heart overflows when- 
ever I recall her tenderness. 'She was the most exeellert, 
the most indulgent of mothers. I was her only child: it 
was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness of 
heart enough to have spoiled a dozen ! 

I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorely 
against my mother's wishes; but my father insisted that 
it was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was 
kept by a conscientious prig of the ancient system, who 
did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care, — that is to 
say, we were flogged soundly when we did not get our 
lessons. We were pat in classes, and thus flogged on in 
droves along the highway of knowledge, in much the 
same manner as cattle are driven to market ; where those 
that are heavy in gait, or short in leg, have to suffer for 
the superior alertness or longer limbs of their companions. 

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incor- 



190 lALES OF A TRAVELLER 

rigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling, 
that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow, and prone' 
to play the vagabond. I used to get away from my books 
and school whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. 
T was surrounded by seductions for such a temperament. 
The school-house was an old-fashioned whitewashed man- 
sion, of wood and plaster standing on the skirts of a beau^ 
tiful village: close by it was the venerable church, with a 
tall Gothic spire; before it spread a lovely green valley, 
with a little stream glistening along through willow 
groves ; while a line of blue hills bounding the landscape 
gave rise to many a summer-day-dream as to the fairy land 
that lay beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school 
to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon 
the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this fre- 
quent flagellation as the common lot of humanity, and the 
regular mode in which scholars were made. 

My kind mother used to lament over my details of the 
sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning ; but my 
father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had 
been flogged through school himself, and he swore there 
was no other way of making a man of parts; though, let 
me speak it with all due reverence, my father was bi;t an 
indifferent illustration of his theory, for he was considered 
a grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early 
period. The village church was attended every Sunday 
by a neighboring squire, the lord of the manor, whose park 
stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious coun- 
try-seat seemed to take the church under its protection. 
Indeed, you would have thought the church had been con- 
secrated to him instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk 



THE yOUNG MAiSI OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 191 

bowed low before him, and the vergers ^ humbled themselves 
unto the dust in his presence. He always entered a little 
late, and with some stir; striking his cane emphatically 
on the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and looking 
loftily to the right and left as he walked slowly up the 
aisle; and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner 
with him, never commenced service until he appeared. 
He sat with his family in a large pew, gorgeously lined, 
humbling himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and read- 
ing lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of 
splendid gold and morocco prayer-books. Whenever the 
parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich man's entering the 
kingdom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would 
turn towards the "grand pew," and I thought the squire 
seemed pleased with the application. 

The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical air of the 
family struck my imagination wonderfully ; and I fell des- 
perately in love with a little daughter of the squire's, about 
twelve years of age. This freak of fancy made me more 
truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about 
the squire's park, and lurk near the house, to catch 
glimpses of this damsel at the windows, or playing about 
the lawn, or walking out with her governess. 

I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to venture 
from my concealment. Indeed I felt like an arrant 
poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
when I pictured myself as some sylvan deity, and she a 
coy wood-nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There is 
something extremely delicious in these early awakenings 
of the tender passion. I can feel even at this moment the 
throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by chance I 

1 The word, derived from Latin virga, "staff," meant originally the one 
who bears the staff of ofiElce before a dignitary. Here it means "ushers" or 
"care-takers." 



192 ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the 
shrubbery. I carried about in my bosom a volume of 
Waller,^ which I had purloined from my mother's library; 
and I applied to my little fair one all the compliments 
lavished upon Sacharissa. 

At length I danced with her at a school-ball. I was so 
awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her ; I 
was filled with awe and embarrassment in her presence ; 
but I was so inspired, that my poetical temperament for 
the first time broke out in verse, and I fabricated some 
glowing rhymes, in which I berhymed the little lady under 
the favorite name of Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, 
trembling and blushing, into her hand the next Sunday 
as she came out of church. The little prude handed 
them to her mamma; the mamma handed them to the 
squire; the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them 
in dudgeon to the schoolmaster; and the schoolmaster, 
with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound 
and peculiarly humiliating flogging for thus trespassing 
upon Parnassus. This was a sad outset for a votary of 
the Muse ; it ought to have cured me of my passion for 
poetry ; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a 
martyr rising within me. What- was as well, perhaps, it 
cured me of my passion for the young lady ; for I felt so 
indignant at the ignominious horsing^ I had incurred in 
celebrating her charms, that I could not hold up my head 
in church. Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the 
Midsummer holidays came on, and I returned home. My 
mother, as usual, inquired into all my school > concerns, 
my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; for -boyhood 

1 Edmund Waller (1605-1687) -wrote love poems, excellent in form but 
artificial in feeling, which he addressed to Lady Dorothy Sidney, naming 
her Sachari^ssa. 

3 Flogging. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 193 

has its share <of the one as well as of the other. I told 
her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had 
experienced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, 
and the prudery of the daughter; and as to the school- 
master, she wondered where was the use of having school- 
masters, and why boys could not remain at home and be 
educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She 
asked to see the verses I had written, and she was 
delighted with them; for, to confess the truth, she had a 
pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them to the 
parson's wife, who protested they were charming; and 
the parson's three daughters insisted on each having a. 
copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic ; and I was still more 
consoled and encouraged when the young ladies, who 
were the bluestockings of the neighborhood, and had read 
Dr. Johnson's Lives ^ quite through, assured my mother 
that great geniuses never studied, but were always idle;, 
upon which I began to surmise that I was myself some- 
thing out of the common run. My father, however, was 
of a very different opinion ; for when my mother, in the 
pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he 
threw them out of the window, asking her "if she meant 
to make a ballad-monger of the boy?" But he was a 
careless, common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I 
ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial 
affection. 

I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on short 
visits to the uncle who was to make me his heir; thev 
thought it would keep me in his mind, and render hinat 
fond of me. He was a withered, anxious-looking, old 
fellow, and lived in a desolate old country-seat, which he 

» Dr. Johnson's famous Lives of the Poets^ 



194 ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

suffered to go to rnin from absolute niggardliness. lie 
kept but one man-servant, who had lived, or ratiioi- 
starved with him for years. No woman was allowed lo 
sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived 
by the gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was 
permitted to come into the house about an hour each day, 
to make the beds and cook a morsel of provisions. The 
park that surrounded the house was all run wild: the 
trees were grown out of shape; the fish-ponds stagnant; 
the urns and statues fallen from their pedestals, and buried 
among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants were 
so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in 
great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and 
weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and frighten off 
robbers, of whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and 
visitors, of whom he was in almost equal awe, my uncle 
kept two or three bloodhounds, who were always prowling 
around the house, and were the dread of the neighboring 
peasantry. They were gaunt and half starved, seemed ready 
to devour one from mere hunger, and were an effectual 
check on any stranger's approach to this wizard castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now 
and then during the holidays. I was, as I before said, 
the old man's favorite; that is to say, he did not hate me 
50 much as he did the rest of "the world. I had been 
apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his 
^ood will ; but I was too young and careless to be a court- 
ier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently studious of 
toy interests to let them govern my feelings. However, we 
jogged on very well together, and as my visits cost him 
ilmost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. 
[ brought with me my fishing-rod, and half supplied the 
sable from the fish-ponds. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 195 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely 
spoke; he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the servant 
perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron 
John, as he was called in the neighborhood, was a coun- 
terpart of his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, 
with a dry wig, that seemed made of cow's tail, and a 
face as tough as though it had been made of cow's-hide. 
He was generally clad in a long, patched livery coat, 
taken out of the wardrobe of the house, and which bagged 
loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some 
corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days of the 
mansion. From long habits of taciturnity the hinges of 
his jaTfs seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and it 
cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and to let out 
a tolerable sentence, as it would have done to set open the 
iron gates of the park and let out the old family carriage, 
that was dropping to pieces in the coach-house. 

I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time 
amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very 
desolateness of the establishment had something in it that 
hit my fancy. When the weather was fine, I used to 
amuse myself in a solitary way, by rambling about the 
park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. The 
hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see 
a human being walking these forbidden grounds by day- 
light. Sometimes I amused myself by Jerking stones, 
or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows ; for to have 
used ar gun would have been treason. Now and then my 
path was crossed by a little red-headed ragged-tailed 
urchin, the son of a woman at the lodge, who ran wild 
about the premises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, 
and to make a companion of him, but he seemed to have 
imbibed the strange unsociable character of everything 



196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

around him, and always kept aloof ; so I considered him as 
another Orson/ and anaosed myself with shooting at him 
with my bow and arrows, and he would hold wp his 
breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and wildness 
strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and 
weather-broken, with the names of favorite horses over 
the vacant stalls; the windows bricked and boarded up; 
the broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, all 
had a singularly forlorn appearance. One would have 
concluded the house to be totally uninhabited, were it not 
for the little thread of blue smoke which now and then 
curled up, like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the 
wide chimneys where my uncle's starveling meal was 
cooking. 

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, 
strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never 
admitted into this strong-hold, where the old man would 
remain for the greater part of the time, drawn up, like a 
veteran spider, in the citadel of his web. The rest of the 
mansion, however, was open to me, and I wandered about 
it unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat in 
through the broken windows, crumbled the paper from 
the walls, mouldered the pictures, and gradually 
destroyed the furniture. I loved to roam about the wide 
waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howling 
of" the wind, and the banging about of the doors and win- 
dow-shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how com- 
pletely, wlien I came to the estate, I .would renovate all 
things, and make the old building ring with merriment, 
till it was astonished at its own jocundity. The chamber 

1 In the romance of Valentine and Oi'son, Orson is suckled by a bear; he 
grows lip wild and untamed. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 197 

which I occupied on these visits, had been my mother's 
when a girl. There was still the toilet-table of her own 
adorning, the landscapes of her own drawing. She had 
never seen it since her marriage, but would often ask me, 
if everything was still the same. All was just the same, 
for I loved that chamber on her account, and had taken 
pains to put everything in order, and to mend all the 
flaws in the windows with my own hands. I" anticipated 
the time when I should once more welcome her to the 
house of her fathers, and restore her to this little nest- 
ling-place of her childhood. 

At length my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is the same 
thing, the Muse, inspired me with the notion of rhyming 
again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on 
Sundays to read chapters out of the Bible; and Iron John, 
the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congre- 
gation. It seemed to be all one to him what he read, so 
, long as it was something from the Bible. Sometimes, 
therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon, and this 
withered anatomy^ would read about being "stayed with 
flagons, and comforted with apples, for he was sick of 
love." Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacles on 
nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in 
Deuteronomy, at which the poor woman would sigh and 
groan, as if wonderfully moved. His favorite book, 
however, was "The Pilgrim's Progress"-; and when he 
came to that part which treats of Donbting Castle and 
Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him and his deso- 
late old country-seat. So much did the idea amuse me, 
that I took to scribbling about it under the trees in the 
park; and in a few days had made some progress in a 
poem^ in which I had given a description of the place^ 

1 Sense of tlie word here? 



198 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified mv 
uncle as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon 
suspected that my uncle had found it, as he harshly 
intimated to me that I could return home, and that I need 
not come and see him again till he should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell 
upon the circumstance. My heart, careless and wayward 
as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an 
event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. 
With her died all that made home attractive. I had no 
longer anybody whom I was ambitious to please, or fear- 
ful to offend. My father was a good kind of a man in his 
way, but he had bad maxims in education, and we differed 
in material points. It makes a vast difference in opinion 
about the utility of the rod, which end happens to fall to 
■one's share. I never could be brought into my father's 
way of thinking on the subject. 

I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient of 
remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did 
not like. I longed for variety, especially now that I had 
not my uncle's house to resort to, by way of diversifying 
the dullness of school with the dreariness of his country- 



I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and full 
■of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire 
to see different kinds of life, and different orders of society ; 
and this vagrant humor had been fostered in me by Tom 
Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, who 
had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 

I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine sum- 
mer's day, and instead of studying the book which lay 
open before me, my eye was gazing through the windows 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 199 

on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the 
happy groups on the tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and 
joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the school- 
house on their way to the metropolis. Even the wagoners,, 
trudging along beside their ponderous teams, and travers- 
ing the kingdom from one end to the other, were objects 
of envy to me: I fancied to myself what adventures they 
must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must 
witness. All this was, doubtless, the poetical tempera- 
ment working within me, and tempting me forth into a 
world of its own creation, which I mistook for the world 
of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strong propensity to rove 
was counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, and 
by the powerful ties of affection which drew me to her 
side; but now that she was gone,f the attraction had 
ceased ; the ties were severed. I had no longer an 
anchorage-ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of 
every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow allow- 
ance on which my father kept me, and the consequent 
penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting to the 
top of a stage-coach, and launching myself adrift on the 
great ocean of life. 

Just about this time the village was agitated for a day 
or two, by the pj^^sing through of several caravans, con- 
taining wild beasts, and other spectacles, for a great fair 
annually held at a neighboring town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curi- 
osity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of prepara- 
tion. I gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant 
personages who accompanied these caravans. I loitered 
about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight 
to the slang talk and cant Jokes of the showmen and their 



'200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

followers ; and I felt an eager desire to witness' this fair, 
which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully fine. 

A holiday afternoon presented, when I coald be absent 
from noon until evening. A wagon was going from the 
Tillage to the fair; I could not resist the temptation, nor 
i:he eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the 
Tery heart's core. We hired seats, and set off full of boy- 
ish expectation. I promised myself that I would but take 
•■a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again 
hefore my absence should be noticed. 

Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair! 
How I was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry 
around me! The humors of Punch, ^ the feats of the 
equestrians, the magical tricks of the conjurers! But 
what principally caught my attention was an itinerant 
theatre, where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce were 
all acted in the course of half an hour, and more of the 
dramatis personae murdered than at either Drury Lane or 
Oovent Garden^ in the course of a whole evening. I have 
since seen many a play performed by the best actors in 
the world, but never have I derived half the delight from 
any that I did from this first representation. 

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like an 
inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently 
embroidered with gilt leather; witji his face so bewhis- 
kered, and his eyebrows so knit and expanded with burnt 
cork, that he made my heart quake within me, as he 
stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured too with 
the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel in a faded 
pink silk, and dirty white muslin, whom he held in cruel 

1 A humorous character in the puppet-shows. The character gives title 
to the chief English comic paper. 
3 Two famous theatres in London, 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 201 

captivity by way of gaining her affections, and who wept, 
and wrung her hands, and flourished a ragged white hand- 
kerchief, from the top of an impregnable tower of the size 
of a bandbox. ^ 

Even after 1 had come out from the play, I could not 
tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre, but lingered, 
gazing and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis per- 
songe as they performed their antics, or danced upon a 
stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spec- 
tators. 

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the 
crowd of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I 
was like one entranced. I lost my companion, Tom 
Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that took place near one 
of the shows; but I was too much occupied in mind to 
think long about hiriio I strolled about until dark, when 
the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened 
upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths, the 
brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with 
dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy dresses, 
contrasted splendidly with the surrounding darkness; 
while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, 
and cymbals, mingled with the harangues of the showmen, 
the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of 
the crowd, all united to complete my giddy distraction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to 
myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. 
I inquired for the wagon in which I had come: it had 
been gone for hours! I asked the time: it was almost 
midnight! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I 
to get back to school? I was too weary to make the 
journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a con- 
veyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture to 



202 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

disturb the school-house long after midnight — to arouse 
that sleeping lion the usher in the very midst of his night's 
rest? — the idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school- 
boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me. My 
absence must long before this have been remarked; — and 
absent for a whole night! — a deed of darkness not easily 
to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue budded forth 
into tenfold terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pic- 
tured to myself punishment and humiliation in every 
variety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture. 
Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to 
our tender natures as are the sterner evils of manhood to 
our robuster minds. 

Iwandered about among the booths, and I might have 
derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the 
charms of this world depend upon ourselves; for I no 
longer saw anything gay or delightful in the revelry around 
me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind 
one of the large tents, and, covering myself with the mar- 
gin of the tent-cloth, to keep off the night chill, I soon 
fell asleep. 

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise 
of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the 
itinerant theatre, rudely constructed of boards and can- 
vas. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole 
dramatis personae, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all 
refreshing themselves after the final dismissal of their 
auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and made 
the flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was aston- 
ished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce 
whiskers, who had made my heart, quake as he strutted 
about the boards, now transformed into a fat, good- 
Kumored fellow ; the beaming porringer laid aside -from his 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 203 

brow, and his jolly face washed from all the terrors of 
burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed 
damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled 
under his tyranny, and afflicted me so much by her sor- 
rows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from 
the same tankard. Harlequin ^ lay asleep on one of the 
benches; and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were 
grouped together, laughing outrageously at a broad story 
told by an unhappy count, who had been barbarously 
murdered in the tragedy. 

This was indeed novelty to me. It was a peep into 
another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curi- 
osity and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories 
and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque 
descriptions and mimickings of the spectators who had 
been admiring them. Their conversation was full of 
allusions to their adventures at different places where they 
had exhibited ; the characters they had met with in differ- 
ent villages; and the ludicrous difficulties in which they 
had occasionally been involved. All past cares and troubles 
were now turned, by these thoughtless beings, into mat- 
ters of merriment, and made to contribute to the gayety 
of the moment. They had been moving from fair t^ fair 
about the kingdom, and were the next morning to set out 
on their way to London. My resolution was taken. I 
stole from my nest, and crept through a hedge into a 
neighboring field, where I went to work to make a tat- 
terdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes; soiled them 
with dirt; begrimed my face and hands, and crawling 
near one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my 

1 Harlequin, a character in the old-fashioned pantomime, was a nimble 
sprite with a sword of lath who played many tricks on the Clown and Panta- 
loon. Pantaloon (see Shakespero s "sixth age,"i^s You Like It, n. vii.), was a 
lean and foolish old man. The heroine of the pantomime was Columbine. 
See below, p. 312. 



204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER ' 

new one in its place. It was an honest tlieft, and I hope 
may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me. 

I now ventured to the scene of merry-making, and pre- 
senting myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as 
a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for 
never before *' stood I in such a presence." I had 
addressed myself to the manager of the company. He 
was a fat man, dressed in ^ dirty white, with a red sash 
fringed with tinsel swathed round his body j hiis face was 
smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered from 
an old spangled black bonnet. He was the Jupiter 
Tonans^ of this Olympus, and was surrounded by the 
inferior gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the 
end of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo, and the 
other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had 
slowly set down from his lips, as he surveyed me from 
head to foot. It was a moment of awful scrutiny ; and I 
fancied the groups around, all watching as in silent sus- 
pense, and waiting for the imperial nod. 

He questioned me as to who I was ; what were my quali- 
fications; and what terms I expected, I passed myself off 
for a discharged servant from a gentleman's family; and 
as, happily, one does not require a special recommendation 
to get admitted into bad company, the questions on that 
head were easily satisfied. As to my accomplishments, I 
could spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes of 
plays, which I had learnt at school exhibitions; I could 

dance . That was enough. No further questions 

were asked me as to accomplishments; it was the very 
thing they wanted; and as I asked no wages but merely 
meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bar- 
gain was struck in a moment. 

1 "The Thunderer " is one of the various titles of Jupiter. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 205 

Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden from a 
gentleman student to a dancing buffoon; for such, in 
fact, was the character in which I made my debut. I was 
one of those who formed the groups in the dramas, and 
was principally employed on the stage in front of the 
booth to attract company. I was equipped as a satyr, in a 
dress of drab frieze that fitted to my shape, with a great 
laughing mask, ornamented with huge ears and short 
horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept 
me from the danger of being discovered, whilst we were 
in that part of the country; and as I had merely to dance 
and make antics, the character was favorable to a debutant 
— being almost on a par with Snug's part ^ of the lion, 
which required nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change 
in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had seen too 
little of society to be thoughtful about the difference of 
rank; and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I 
had given up no friend, for there seemed to be no one in 
the world that cared for me, now that my poor mother 
was dead ; I had given up no pleasure, for my pleasure was 
to ramble about and indulge the flow of a poetical imagina- 
tion, and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life 
so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued grovelling inclina- 
tions. I do not think so. Not that I mean to vindicate 
myself in any great degree: I know too well what a 
whimsical compound I am. But in this instance I was 
seduced by no -love of low company, nor disposition to 
indulge in low vices. I have always despised the brutally 
vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether in high or low 
life. I was governed merely by a sudden and thoughtless 

* Snug, the joiner, in Midsummer Night's Dream, V., i. 



206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession as 
a mode of life, or of attaching myself to these people, as 
my future class of society. I thought merely of a tem- 
porary gratification to my curiosity, and an indulgence of 
my humors. I had already a strong relish for the pecu- 
liarities of character and the varieties of situation, and I 
have always been fond of the comedy of life, and desirous 
of seeing it through all its shifting scenes. 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and 
buffoons, I was protected by the very vivacity of imagina- 
tion which had led me among them ; I moved about, envel- 
oped, as it were, in a protecting delusion, which my fancy 
spread around me. I assimilated to these people only as 
they struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and a cer- 
tain picturesqueness in their mode of life entertained me; 
but I was neither amused nor corrupted by their vices. In 
short, I mingled among them, as Prince Hal^ did among 
his graceless associates, merely to gratify my humor. 

I did not investigate my motives in this manner, at the 
time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about 
the matter; but I do so now, when I look back with trem- 
bling to think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly 
exposed myself, and the manner in which I passed through 
it.. Nothing, I am convinced, but the poetical tempera- 
ment, that harried me into the scrape, brought me out of 
it without my becoming an arrant vagabond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the 
wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, 
I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks about 
the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited ; and I was 
universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that 

1 For t'ne story of Prince Hal and his friendship with Falstafl and his 
other "graceless associates," see I King Henry IV. 



THE YOUNG MA]X OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 207 

had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance from 
school had awakened my father's anxiety; for I one day 
heard a description of myself cried before the very booth 
in which I was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for 
any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about let- 
ting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account; it 
would punish him for past indifference, and would make 
him value me the more when he found me again. 

I have wondered that some of my comrades did not 
recognize me in the stray sheep that was cried; but they 
were all, no doubt, occupied by their own concerns. They 
were all laboring seriously in their antic vocation; for folly 
was a mere trade with most of them, and they often 
grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the 
contrary, it was all real. I acted con amore^ and rattled 
and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my spirits. 
It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave 
on receiving a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of 
Harlequin in the course of my gambols, as it brought to 
mind the birch of my schoolmaster. But I soon got 
accustomed to it, and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, 
and tumbling about, which form the practical wit of your 
itinerant pantomime, with a good-humor that made me a 
prodigious favorite. 

The country campaign of the troop was soon ^t an end, 
and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs 
wWch are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our 
theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of 
preparation for the opening of the fairs; while a detach- 
ment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging among 
the villages. I was amused with the desultory, hap-hazard 
kind of life we led ; here to-day and gone to-morrow. 

I Literally, "with love," i.e., with the zeal that comes of love. 



208 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Sometimes revelling in ale-houses, sometimes feasting 
under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were 
crowded, and business profitable, we fared well; and when • 
otherwise, we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, and made 
up with anticipations of the next day's success. 

At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying 
past u^, covered with passengers; the increasing number 
of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and 
flocks of sheep, all thronging the road; the snug country 
boxes with trim flower-gardens, twelve feet square, and 
their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust, and 
the innumerable seminaries for young ladies and gentle- 
men situated along the road for the benefit of country air 
and rural retirement; all these insignia announced that 
the mighty London was at hand. The hurry, and the 
crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, 
increased as we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of 
smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state, over this 
queen of cities. 

In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a strolling 
vagabond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of vaga- 
bonds about me; but 1 was as happy as a prince; for, like 
Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situation, and 
knew that I could at any time cast it off, and emerge into 
my proper sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Corner, 
and I saw splendid equipages rolling by ; with powdered 
footmen behind, in rich liveries, with fine nosegays, and 
gold-lieaded canes; and ivith lovely women within, so 
sumptuously dressed, and so surpassingly fair! I was 
always extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I saw 
it in all its powers of fascination : for whatever may be said 
of "beauty unadorned," there is something almost awful 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 209 

in female loveliness decked out in jewelled state. The 
swanlike neck encircled with diamonds; the raven locks 
clustered with pearls; the ruby glowing on the snowy 
bosom, are objects which I could! never contemplate with- 
out emotion; and a dazzling white arm clasped with 
bracelets, and taper, transparent fingers, laden with spark- 
ling rings, are to me irresistible. 

My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly 
beauty before me. It surpassed all that my imagination 
had conceived of the sex. I shrank, for a moment, into 
shame at the company in which I was placed, and repined 
at the vast distance that seemed to intervene between me 
and these magnificent beings. 

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I led about 
the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs 
held there during the latter part of spring, and the begin- 
ning of summer. This continued change from place to 
place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novel- 
ties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement. 
As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one time, to play 
heroes in tragedy; but, after two or three trials, I was 
pronounced by the manager totally unfit for the line ; and 
our first tragic actress, who was a large woman, and held 
a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language 
which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no 
nature. They said I did not fill out my characters; and 
they were right. The characters had all been prepared 
for a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, 
robustious fellow, with an amazing voice; who stamped 
and slapped his breast until his wig shook again ; and who 
roared andn bellowed out his bombast until every phrase 
swelled' upon the ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I 



210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his 
characters. When we had a dialogue together, I was 
nothing before him, with my slender voice and discrim- 
inating manner. I might as well have attempted to parry 
a cudgel with a small-sword. If he found me in any way 
gaining ground upon him, he would take refuge in his 
mighty voice, and throw his tones like peals of thunder at 
me, until they were drowned in the still louder thimders 
of applause from the audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair 
play, and that there was management at the bottom; for 
without vanity I think I was a better actor than he. As I 
had not embarked in the vagabond line through ambition, 
I did not repine at lack of preferment; but I was grieved 
to find that a vagrant life was not without its cares and 
anxieties; and that jealousies, intrigues, and mad ambi- 
tion, were to be found even among vagabonds. 

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, 
and the delusions of fancy gradually faded av^^ay, I began 
to find that my associates were not the happy careless 
creatures I had at first imagined them. They were jealous 
of each other's talents; they quarrelled about parts, the 
same as the actors on the grand theatres ; they quarrelled 
about dresses; and there was one robe of yellow silk, . 
trimmed with red, and a head-dress of three rumpled 
ostrich -feathers, which were continually setting the ladies 
of the company by the ears. Even those who had attained 
the highest honors were not more happy than the rest ; for 
Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, and apparently 
a jovial good-humored fellow, confessed to me one day, in 
the fulness of his heart, that he was a miserable man. 
He had a brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though 
not by blood, who was manager of a theatre in a small 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 211 

country town. And this same brother ("a little more 
than kin but less than kind" ^) looked down upon him, 
and treated him with contumely, because, forsooth, he 
was but a strolling player. I tried to console him with 
the thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but it 
was all in vain. He declared that it gave him no delight, 
and that he should never be a happy man, until the name 
of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp. 

How little do those before the scenes know of what 
passes behind! how little can they judge, from the coun- 
tenances of actors, of what is passing in their hearts! I 
have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, 
who were, the moment after, to fly into each other's 
embraces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvidera was 
CO take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier,** lest she should 
i>ite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough 
joker off the stage; our prime clown the most peevish * 
mortal living. The latter used to go about snapping and 
snarling, with a broad laugh painted on his countenance; 
and I can assure you, that, whatever may be said of the 
gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of a gibed cat,' 
there is no more melancholy creature in existence than a 
mountebank off duty. 

The only thing in which all parties agreed, was to back- 
bite the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, 
however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of 
human nature, and to take place in all communities. It 
would seem to be the main business of man to repine at 
government. In all situations of life, into which I have 

1 Hamlet, I. il. 65. 

* Characters in Thomas Otway's tragedy Venice Preserved. 

3 A gib-cat is a tom-cat. Gib is the abbreviation of Gilbert, the conven- 
tional name of the cat, as Bruin is of the bear and Reynard of the fox. 
The illusion is to I King Henry IV., I. ii. 83. 



212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

looked, I have found mankind divided into two grand 
parties: those who ride, and those who are ridden. The 
great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the 
saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental prin- 
ciple of politics, whether in great or little life. However, 
I do not mean to moralize — but one cannot always sink 
the philosopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself, it was determined, as I 
said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and unluckily, as my 
study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pro- 
nounced unfit for comedy also; besides, the line of young 
gentlemen was already engrossed by an actor with whom I 
could not pretend to enter into competition, he having 
filled it for almost half a century. I came down again, 
therefore, to pantomime. In consequence, however, of 
the good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a 
liking to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to 
that of the lover; and with my face patched and painted, 
a huge cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and 
dangling long-skirted sky-blue coat, was metamorphosed 
into the lover of Columbine. My part did not call for 
much of the tender and sentimental. I had merely to 
pursue the fugitive fair one; to have a door now and then 
slammed in my face ; to run my head occasionally against 
a post; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon and the 
Clown ; and to endure the heart}^ tliwacks of Harlequin's 
Avooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament 
began to ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. 
The inflammatory air of a great metropolis, added to the 
rural scenes in which the fairs were held, such as Green- 
wich Park, Epping Forest, and the lovely valley of the 
West End, had a powerful effect upon me. While in 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 213 

Greenwich Park, I was witness to the old holiday games 
of running down-hill, and kissing in the ring ; and then the 
firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes that j\^ould be 
turned towards me, as I was playing antics on the stage; 
all these set my young blood and my poetical vein in full 
flow. In short, I played the character to the life, and 
became desperately enamored of Columbine. She was a 
trim, well-made, tempting girl, with a roguish dimpling 
face, and fine chestnut hair clustering all about it. The 
moment I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all play- 
ing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling, that I 
could not put on a pretended, when I was powerfully 
affected by a real emotion. I could not sport with a fic- 
tion that came so near to the fact. I became too natural 
in my acting to succeed. And then, what a situation for 
a lover! I was a mere stripling, and she played with my 
passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit and knowing in 
these matters than your awkward youngsters. What 
agonies had I to suffer ! Every time that she danced in 
front of the booth, and made such liberal displays of her 
charms, I was in torment. To complete my misery, I had 
a real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, knowing 
varlet, of six -and -twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced 
youngster like me to hope from such a competition? 

I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In 
spite of my change of life, I retained that indescribable 
something which always distinguishes the gentleman ; that 
something which dwells in a man's air and deportment 
and not in his clothes; and which is as difficult for a gen- 
tleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The 
company generally felt it, and used to call me Little Gen- 
tleman Jack. The girl felt it, too, and, in spite of her 
predilection for my powerful rival, she liked to flirt with 



214 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increasing my 
passion, and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored 
lover. 

Alas ! think what I suffered at being obliged to keep up 
an ineffectual chase after my Columbine through whole 
pantomimes; to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of 
the happy Harlequin; and to be obliged, instead of snatch- 
ing her from him, to tumble sprawling with Pantaloon and 
the Clown, and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks 
of my rival's weapon of lath, which, may heaven confound 
him! (excuse my passion), the villain laid on with a 
malicious good- will : nay, I could absolutely hear him 
chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed mask — I beg par- 
don for growing a little warm in my narrative — I wish to 
bjB cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. 
I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable 
situations of lovers, but none, I think, in which true love 
was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. 

This could not last long; flesh and blood, at least such 
flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated 
heart-burnings and quarrels with my rival, in whicli he 
treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a man 
towards a child. Had he quarrelled outright with me, I 
could have stomached it, at least I should have known 
what part to take ; but to be humored and treated as a 
child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all the 
bantam spirit of a little man swelling within me — Grods ! it 
was insufferable ! 

At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, 

which was at that time a very fashionable resort, and often 

^beleaguered with gay equipages from town. Among the 

spectators that filled the first row of our little canvas 

theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a panto- 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 216 

mime, were a number of young ladies from a boarding- 
school, with their governess. Guess my confusion, when, 
in the midst of my antics, I beheld among the number 
my quondam flame ; her whom I had berhymed at school, 
her for whose charms I had smarted so severely, the cruel 
Sacharissa! What was worse, I fancied she recollected 
me, and was repeating the story of my humiliating flagel- 
lation, for I saw her whispering to her companions and 
her governess. I lost all consciousness of the part I was 
acting, and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to 
nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole, — unluckily, 
none was open to receive me. Before I could recover 
from my confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and 
the Clown, and I felt the sword of Harlequin making 
vigorous assaults in a manner most degrading to my dig- 
nity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in 
this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even 
before the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most dis- 
dainful of fair ones? All my long-smothered wrath broke 
out at once; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose 
within me. Stung to the quick* by intolerable mortifica- 
tion, I sprang on my feet in an instant; leaped upon Har- 
lequin like a young tiger; tore off his mask; buffeted him 
in the face ; and soon shed more blood on the stage than 
had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic campaign of 
battles and murders. 

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he 
returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his 
hands. I was game, to be sure, for I was a gentleman; 
but he had the clownish advantage of bone and muscle. I 
felt as if I could have fought even unto the death ; and I 
was likely to do so, for he was, according to the boxing 



216 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

phrase, '^putting my head into chancery,"^ when the 
gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. Grod bless the 
women! they are always on the side of the weak and the 
oppressed ! 

The battle now became general ; the dramatis personae 
ranged on either side. The manager interposed in vain; 
in vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white 
feathers seen whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing 
in the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, 
satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all joined pell- 
mell in the affray; never, since the conflict under the walls 
of Troy, had there been such a chance-medley warfare of 
combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, 
the ladies shrieked, and fled from the theatre; and a scene 
of discord ensued that baffles all description. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace-officers 
restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, 
among dresses and decorations, put an end to all further 
acting for that day. The battle over, the next thing was 
to inquire why it was begun : a common question among 
politicians after a bloody and unprofitable war, and one 
not always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to 
me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, which 
they could only attribute to my having, run amuclc.^ 
The manager was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the 
bargain; and in such cases justice is always speedily 
administered. He came out of the fight as sublime a 
wreck as the Santissima Trinidada.^ His gallant plumes, 
which once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears; 

1 Pinning his head down under his arm so that he could not free him- 
self. Cases in the chancery courts were proverbially difficult to get out. 

3 An interesting phrase ; see any good dictionary for the explanation. 

8 A Spanish war- vessel, captured and sunk by Lord Nelson at the battle ol 
Trafalgar In 1805. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 217 

Ms robe of state hung in ribbons from his back, and but 
ill concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. He 
had received kicks and cuffs from all sides during the 
tumult; for every one took the opportunity of slyly grati- 
fying some lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He was a 
discreet, man, and did not choose to declare war with all 
his company, so he swore all those kicks and cuffs had 
been given by me, and I let him enjoy the opinion. Some 
wounds he bore, however, which were the incontestable 
traces of a woman's warfare: his sleek rosy cheek was 
scored by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to the 
nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of 
the monarch was not to be appeased; he had suffered in 
his p^erson, and he had suffered in his purse; his dignity, 
too, had been insulted, and that went for something; for 
dignity is always more irascible, the more petty the poten- 
tate. He wreaked his wrath upon the beginners of the 
affray, and Columbine and myself were discharged, at 
once, from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more 
than sixteen, a gentleman by birth, a vagabond by trade, 
turned adrift upon the world, making the best of my way 
through the crowd of West End fair; my mountebank 
'dress fluttering in rags about me; the weeping Columbine 
hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered finery; 
the tears coursing one by one down her face, carrying off 
the red paint in torrents, and literally "preying upon her 
damask cheek." ^ 

The crowd made way for us as we passed, and hooted in 
our rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had too 
much gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed 

1 Twelfth Night, II. iv. 115. The quotation is slightly altered from thQ 
original, 



218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

everything for me. Having wandered through the fair, 
we emerged, like another Adam and Eve, into unknown 
regions, and *'had the world before us. where to choose.^" 
Never was a more disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley 
of West End. The luckless Columbine cast many a lin- 
gering look at the fair, which seemed to put on a more 
than usual splendor: its tents, and booths, and parti- 
colored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and 
gleaming among the trees; audits gay flags and streamers 
fluttering in the light summer airs. With a heavy sigh 
she would lean on my arm and proceed. I had no hope 
nor consolation to give her; but she had linked herself 
to my fortunes, and she was too much of a woman to 
desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful 
fields which lie behind Hampstead, and wandered on, 
until the fiddle and the hautboy, and the shout, and the 
laugh, were swallowed up in the deep sound of the big 
bass-drum, and even that died away into a distant rum- 
ble. We passed along the pleasant, sequestered walk of 
Nightingale Lane. For a pair of lovers, what scene could 
be more propitious? — But such a pair of lovers! Not a 
nightingale sang to soothe us: the very gypsies, who 
were encamped there during the fair, made no offer to tell 
the fortunes of such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, 
I suppose, they thought too legibly written to need an 
interpreter; and the gypsy children crawled into their 
cabins, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went by. 
For a moment I paused, and was almost tempted to turn 
gypsy, but the poetical feeling, for the present, was fully 
satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we travelled and trav- 
elled, like a prince and princess in a nursery tale, until 

1 One of the closing lines of the last book of Paradise Lost. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 219 

we had traversed a part of Hampstead Heath, and arrived 
in the vicinity of Jack Straw's Castle. Here, wearied 
and dispirited, we seated ourselves on the margin of the 
hill, hard by the very milestone where Whittington ^ of 
yore heard the Bow-bells ring out the presage of his future 
greatness. Alas! no hell rung an invitation to us, as we 
looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London 
seemed to wrap itself unsociahly in its mantle of brown 
smoke, and to offer no encouragement to such a couple 
of tatterdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime 
was reversed, Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had car- 
ried off Columbine in good earnest. But what was I to do 
with her? I could not take her in my hand, return to my 
father, throw myself on my knees, and crave his forgive- 
ness and blessing, according to dramatic usage. The 
very dogs would have chased such a draggled-tailed beauty 
from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one tapped me 
on the shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of rough 
sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to 
expect, I jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to 
make battle, but was tripped up and secured in a twink- 
ling, 

"Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in 
a gruff but good-humored tone, *' don't let's have any of 
your tantrums; one would have thought you had had 
swing enough for this bout. Come; it's high time to 
leave off harlequinading, and go home to your father." 

In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless men. 

1 Sir Richard Whittington, a popular chap-book hero of London, rose 
from a very, humhle position to be Lord Mayor of London. As a boy 
apprentice, the story goes, he was prevented from running away from his 
master by hearing these words in the bells of Bow-church j "Turn again, 
Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London." 



220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, and that 
a reward had been offered throughout the country for 
any tidings of me ; and they had seen a description of me 
which had been inserted in the public papers. Those 
harpies, therefore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre, were 
resolved to deliver me over into the hands of my father, 
and the. clutches of my pedagogue. 

In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful and 
afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself from their 
grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to protect her; and 
wiped the tears from her cheek, and with 'them a whole 
blush that might have vied with the carnation for bril- 
liancy. My persecutors were inflexible ; they even seemed 
to exult in our distress; and to enjoy this theatrical dis- 
play of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was carried off 
in despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the wide 
world; but many a look of agony did I cast back at her 
as she stood gazing piteously after me from the brink 
of Hampstead Hill; so forlorn, so fine, so ragged, so 
bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I re- 
turned home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, and 
dreading the reward I was to receive for my improvement. 
My reception, however, was quite different from what I 
had expected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, 
and did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, 
which he termed "sowing my wild oats." He happened 
to have some of his sporting friends to dine the very day 
of my return ; they made me tell some of my adventures, 
and laughed heartily at them.^ 

^ The father of Buckthorne, as he is presented here, seems to be a some- 
what diluted version of a popular eighteenth century type, the fox-hunting 
squire. A good representative of the class is Squire Western in Fielding's 
Tom Jones. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 321 

One old feliow, with an outrageously red nose, took to 
me hugely. I heard him whisper to my father that I was 
a lad of mettle, and might make something clever; to 
which my father replied, that I had good points, but was 
an ill-broken whelp, and required a great deal of the whip. 
Perhaps this very conversation raised me a little in his 
esteem, for I found the red-nosed old gentleman was a 
veteran fox-hunter of the neighborhood, for whose opinion 
my father had vast deference. Indeed, I believe he would 
have pardoned anything in me more readily than poetry, 
which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeeping 
employment, the bane of all fine manhood. He swore it 
was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was 
one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to 
keep horses and hounds, and hire poets to write songs for 
him into the bargain. 

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. 
I had exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been heartily 
buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I felt 
humiliated by my exposure, and willing to hide my head 
anywhere for a season, so that I might be oat of the way 
of the ridicule of the world; for I found folks not alto- 
gether so indulgent abroad as they were at my father's 
table. I could not stay at home ; the house was intoler- 
ably doleful now that my mother was no longer there to 
cherish me. Everything around spoke mournfully of her. 
The little flower-garden in which she delighted, was all in 
disorder and overrun with weeds. I attempted for a day 
or two to arrange it, but my heart grew heavier and 
heavier as I labored. Every little broken-down flower, 
that I had seen her rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in 
mute eloquence to my feelings. There was a favorite 
honeysuckle which I had seen her often training with 



222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

assiduity, and had heard her say it would be the pride of 
her garden. I found it grovelling along the ground, tan- 
gled and wild, and twining round every worthless weed ; 
and it struck me as an emblem of myself, a mere scatterr 
ling, running to waste and uselessness. I could work no 
longer in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way of 
keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was 
received, as usual, without any expression of discontent, 
which we always considered equivalent to a hearty welcome. 
Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not, 
I could not discover, he and his man were both so taciturn. 
I spent a day or two roaming about the dreary mansion 
and neglected park, and felt at one time, I believe, a 
touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a 
fish-pond; I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it left 
me. I found the same red-headed boy running wild about 
the park, but I felt in no humor to hunt him at present. 
On the contrary, I tried to coax him to me, and to make 
friends with him; but the young savage was untamable. 
When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home 
for some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to 
make a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, 
and I became a great favorite of the red-nosed squire, 
because I rode at everything, never refused the boldest 
leap, and was always sure to be in at the death. I used 
often, howevei^, to offend my father at hunting-dinners, by 
taking the wrong side in politics. My father was amaz- 
ingly ignorant, so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that 
he knew nothing. He was stanch, however, to church and 
king, and full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now I had 
picked up a little knowledge in politics and religion during 
my rambles with the strollers, and found myself capable 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 223 

of setting him right as to many of his antiquated notions. 
I felt it my duty to do so; we were apt, therefore, to 
differ occasionally in the political discussions which some- 
times arose at those hunting-dinners. 

I was at that age when a man knows least, and is most 
vain of his knowledge, and when he is extremely tenacious 
in defending his opinion upon subjects about which he 
knows nothing. My father was a hard man for any one 
to argue with, for he never knew when he was refuted. I 
sometimes posed him a little, but then he had one argu- 
ment that always settled the question; he would threaten 
to knock me down. I believe he at last grew tired of me, 
because I both out-talked and out-rode him. The red- 
nosed squire, too, got out of conceit with me, because, in 
the heat of the chase, I rode over hirh one day as he and 
his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I found myself get- 
ting into disgrace with all the world, and would have got 
heartily out of humor with myself, had I not been kept in 
tolerable self-conceit by the parson's three daughters. 

They were the same who had admired my poetry on a 
former occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at 
school; and I had ever since retained an exalted idea of 
their judgment. Indeed, they were young ladies not 
merely of taste but of science. Their education had been 
superintended by their mother, who was a blue-stocking. 
They knew enough of botany to tell the technical names 
of all the flowers in the garden, and all their secret con- 
cerns into the bargain. They knew music, too, not mere 
commonplace music, but Eossini and Mozart, and they 
sang Moore's Irish Melodies^ to perfection. They had 
pretty little work-tables, covered with all kinds of objects 

1 Thomas Moore published his Irish Melodies at various times between 
1807 and 1834. 



224 ^ TAL'ES OF A TRAVELLEE 

of taste: specimens of lava, and pamtied tggs, and work- 
boxes, painted and* varnished by themselves. They 
excelled in knotting and netting, and painted in water- 
colors; and made feather fans, and fire-screens, and 
worked in silks and worsteds; and talked French and 
Italian, and knew Shakspeare by heart. They even knew 
something of geology and mineralogy; and went about the 
neighborhood knocking stones to pieces, to the great 
admiration and perplexity of t^ le country folk. 

I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their 
accomplishments, but I wish to let you see that these 
were not commonplace young ladies, but had pretensions 
quite above the ordinary run. It was some consolation 
to me, therefore, to find favor in such eyes. Indeed, they 
had always marked me out for a genius, and eonsidered 
my late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. They 
observed that Shakspeare himself had been a mere pickle 
in his youth ; that he had stolen a deer, as every one kiiew, 
and kept loose company, and consorted with actors : so I 
comforted myself marvellously with the idea of having so 
decided a Shakspearian trait* in my character. 

The youngest of the three, however, was my grand con-, 
solation. She was a pale, sentimental girl, with long-j 
^^hyacinthine" ringlets hanging about her face. She j 
wrote poetry herself, and we kept up a poetical correspond- 
ence. She had a taste for the drama, too, and I taught 
her how to act several of the scenes in "Eomeo and 
Juliet." I used to rehearse the garden-scene under her 
lattice, which looked out from among woodbine and 
honeysuckles into the church-yard. I began to think her 
amazingly pretty as well as clever, and I believe I should 
have finished by falling in love with her, had not her 
father discovered our theatrical studies. He was a stu- 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 225^ 

dious, abstracted man, generally too much absorbed in his 
learned and religious labors to notice the little foibles of 
his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a father's fond- 
ness ; but he unexpectedly put 'hi& head: out of his study- 
window one day in the midst of a scene, and put a stop ta 
our rehearsals. He had a vast deal of that prosaic good 
sense which I forever found a stumbling-block in my 
poetical path. My rambling freak had not struck the* 
good man as poetically as it had his daughters. He- 
drew his comparison from a different manual. He 
looked upon me as a prodigal son,, and doubted whether 1 
should ever arrive at the happy catastrophe of the fatted 
calf. 

I fancy some intimation was given to my father of this 
new breaking out of my poetical temperament, for he sud- 
denly intimated that it was high time I should prepare for 
the university. I dreaded a return to the school whence 
I had eloped: the ridicule of my fellow-scholars, and the 
glance from the squire's pew, would have been worse than, 
death to me, I was fortunately spared the humiliation. 
My father sent me to board with a country gentleman,, 
who had three or four boys under his care. I went to him 
joyfully, for 1 had often heard my mother mention him^ 
with esteem. In fact he had been an admirer of hers in 
his younger days, though too humble in fortune and 
modest in pretentions to aspire to her hand; but he had 
ever retained a tender regard for her. He was a good 
man; a worthy specimen of that valuable body of our 
country clergy who silently and unostentatiously do a- vast 
deal of good; who are, as it were, woven into the whole- 
system of rural life, and operate upon it with the steady 
yet unobtrusive influence of temperate piety and learned 
good sense. He lived in a small village not far from War- 



226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wick, one of those little communities where the scant]^ 
flock is, in a manner, folded into the bosom of the pastor. 
The venerable church, in its grass -grown cemetery, was 
one of those rural temples scattered about our country as 
if to sanctify the land. 

I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this 
moment, with his mild benevolent countenance, rendered 
still more venerable by his silver hairs. I have him 
before me, as I saw him on my arrival seated in the 
embowered porch of his small parsonage, with a flower- 
garden before it, and his pupils gathered round him like 
his children. I shall never forget his reception of me; 
for I believe he thought of my poor mother at the time, 
and his heart yearned towards her child. His eye glis- 
tened when he received me at the door, and he took me 
into his arms as the adopted child of his affections. Never 
had I been so fortunately placed. He was one of those 
excellent members of our church, who help out their nar- 
row salaries by instructing a few gentlemen's sons. I 
am convinced those little seminaries are among the best 
nurseries of talent and virtue in the land. Both heart 
and mind are cultivated and improved. The preceptor is 
the companion and the friend of his pupils. His sacred 
character gives him dignity in their eyes, and his solemn 
functions produce that elevation of mind and sobriety of 
conduct necessary to those who are to teach youth to think 
and act wprthily. 

I speak from my own random observation and expe- 
rience ; but I think 1 speak correctly. At any rate, I can 
trace much of what is good in my own heterogeneous 
compound to the short time I was under the instruction of 
that good man. He entered into the cares and occupa- 
tions and amusements of his pupils ; and won his way into 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 227 

our confidence, and studied our hearts and minds more 
intently than we did our books. 

He soon sounded the depth of my character. I had 
become, as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my 
notions, and apt to philosophize on both politics and 
religion ; having seen something of men and things, and 
learnt, from my fellow-philosophers, the strollers, to 
despise all vulgar prejudices. He did not attempt to cast 
down my vainglory, nor to question my right view of 
things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little informa- 
tion on these topics ; though in a quiet unobtrusive way, 
that never ruffled a feather of my self-conceit. I was 
astonished to find what a change a little knowledge makes 
in one's mode of viewing matters; and how different a- 
subject is when one thinks, or when one only talks about 
it. I conceived a vast deference for my teacher, and was 
ambitious of his good opinion. In my zeal to make a 
favorable impression, I presented him with a whole ream 
of my poetry. He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed 
my hand when he returned it to me, but said nothing. 
The next day he set me at mathematics. 

Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed 
robbed by him of all its austerity. I was not conscious 
that he thwarted an inclination or opposed a wish ; but I 
felt that, for the time, my inclinations were entirely 
changed^ I became fond of study, aiid zealous to improve 
myself. I made tolerable advances in studies which I had 
before considered as unattainable, and I wondered at my 
own proficiency. I thought, too, I astonished my precep- 
tor; for I often caught his eyes fixed upon me with a 
peculiar expression. I suspect, since, that he was pen- 
sively tracing in my countenance the early lineaments of 
my mother. 



228 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Education was not apportioned by liim into tasks, and 
enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned with joy the moment 
the hour of study was expired. We had., it is true, our 
allotted hours of occupation, to give us habits of method, 
and of the distribution of time; but they were made 
pleasant to us, and our feelings were enlisted in the 
cause. When they were over, education still went 
on. It pervaded all our relaxations and amusements. 
There was a steady march of improvement. Much of 
his instruction was given during pleasant rambles, or 
when seated on the margin of the Avon; and informa- 
tion received in that way, often makes a deeper impres- 
sion than when acquired by poring over books. I have 
many of the pure and eloquent precepts that flowed 
from his lips associated in my mind with lovely scenes in 
nature, which make the recollection cf them indescribably 
delightful. 

I do not pretend to say that any miracle was effected 
with me. After all said and done, I was but a weak dis- 
ciple. My poetical temperament still wrought within me 
and wrestled hard with wisdom, and, I fear, maintained 
the mastery. I found mathematics an intolerable task in 
fine weather. I would be prone to forget my problems, 
to watch the birds hopping about the windows, or the 
bees humming about the honeysuckles ; and whenever I 
could steal away, I would wander about the grassy borders 
of the Avon, and excuse this truant propensity to myself 
with the idea that I was treading classic ground, over 
which Shakspeare had wandered. What luxurious idle- 
ness have I indulged, as I lay under the trees and watched 
the silver waves rippling through the arches of the 
broken "bridge, and laving the rocky bases of old Warwick 
Oastle; and how often have I thought of sweet Shakspeare, 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 329 

and in my boyish enthusiasm have kissed the waves which 
had washed his native village. 

My good preceptor would often accompany me in. 
these desultory rambles. He sought to get hold of this 
vagrant mood of mind and turn it to some account. He 
endeavored to teach me to mingle thought with mere 
sensation ; to moralize on the scenes around ; and to make 
the beauties of nature administer to the understanding of 
the heart. He endeavored to direct my imagination to 
high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty images. In 
a word, he did all he could to make the best of a poetical 
temperament, and to counteract the mischief which had 
been done to me by my great expectations. 

Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pas- 
tor, or remained with him a longer time, I really believe 
he would have made something of me. He had already 
brought a great deal of what had been flogged into me 
into tolerable order, and had weeded out much of the 
unprofitable wisdom which had sprung up in my vagabond- 
izing. I already began to find that with all my genius a. 
little study would be no disadvantage to me; and, in 
spite of my vagrant freaks, I began to doubt my being a 
second Shakspeare. 

Just as I was making these precious discoveries the good 
parson died. It was a melancholy day throughout the 
neighborhood. He had his little flock of scholars, his 
children, as he used to call us, gathered round him in his 
dying moments; and he gave us the parting advice of a 
father, now that he had to leave us, and we were to be 
separated from each other, and scattered about in the 
world. He took me by the hand, and talked with me 
earnestly and affectionately, and called to my mind my 
mother, and used her name to enforce his dying exhorta- 



230 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

tions; for I rather think he considered me the mast erring 
and heedless of his flock. He held my hand in his, long 
after he had done speaking, and kept his eye fixed on me - 
tenderly and almost pi teonsly: his lips moved as if he were 
silently praying for me ; and he died away, still holding 
me by the hand. 

There was not a dry eye in the church when the funeral 
service was read from the pulpit from which he had so 
often preached. When the body was Qommitted to the 
earth, our little band gathered round it, and watched the 
coffin as it was lowered into the grave. The parishioners 
looked at us with sympathy ; for we were mourners not 
merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about the 
grave, and clung to one another for a time, weeping and 
speechless, and then parted, like a band of brothers part- 
ing from the paternal earth, never to assemble there again. 

How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweetened 
our natures, and linked our young hearts together by the 
kindest ties ! I have always had a throb of pleasure at 
meeting with an old schoolmate, even though one of my 
truant associates; but whenever, in the course of my life, 
I have encountered one of that little flock with which I 
was folded on the banks of the Avon, it has been with a 
gush of affection, and a glow of virtue, that for the 
moment have made me a better man. 

I was now sent to Oxford, and was wonderfully 
impressed on first entering it as a student. Learning here 
puts on all its majesty. It is lodged in palaces; it is 
sanctified by the sacred ceremonies of religion ; it has a 
pomp and circumstance which powerfully affect the 
imagination. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thought- 
less as I was. My previous studies with the worthy pas- 
tor had prepared me to regard it with deference and awe. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 231 

He had been educated here, and always spoke of the Uni- 
versity with filial fondness and classic yeneration. When 
I beheld the clustering spires and pinnacles of this most 
august of cities rising from the plain, I hailed them in my 
enthusiasm as the points of a diadem, which the nation 
had placed upon the brows of science. 

For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment for me. 
There was a charm al5out its monastic buildings; its great 
Gothic quadrangles; its solemn halls, and shadowy 
cloisterSo I delighted, in the evenings, to get in places 
surrounded by the colleges, where all modern buildings 
were screened from the sight; and to see the Professors 
and students sweeping along in the dusk in their anti- 
quated caps and gowns. I seemed 'for a time to be trans- 
ported among the people and edifices of the old times. I 
was a frequent attendant, also, of the evening service in 
the New College Hall; to hear the fine organ, and the 
choir swelling an anthem in that solemn building, where 
painting, music, and architecture are in such admirable 
unison. 

A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk bordered 
by lofty elms along the river, behind the gray walls of 
Magdalen College, which goes by the name of Addison's 
Walk, from being his favorite resort when an Oxford stu- 
dent. 1 became also a lounger in the Bodleian library, 
and a great dipper into books, though I cannot say that I 
studied them; in fact, being no longer under direction oi" 
control, I was gradually relapsing into mere indulgence 
of the fancy. Still this would have been pleasant and 
harmless enough, and I might have awakened from mere 
literary dreaming to something better. The chances were 
in m}' fsvor, for the riotous times of the University were 
past. The days of hard drinking were at an end. . f he 



'232 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'old feuds of ''Town and Gown," ^ like the civil wars of the 
White and Red Rose, had died away; and student and 
citizen slept in peace and whole skins, without risk of 
being summoned in the night to bloody brawl. It had 
•become the fashion to study at the University, and the 
-odds were always in favor Of my following the fashion. 
Unlrackily, however, I fell in company with a special knot 
<of young fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had 
lived occasionally upon town, and become initiated into 
the Fancy. ^ They voted study to be the toil of dull minds, 
iby which they slowly crept up the hill, while genius 
;ar rived at it at a bound. I felt ashamed to play the owl 
:among such gay birds; so I threw by my books, and 
became a man of spirit. 

As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwith- 
standing the narrowness of his income, having an eye 
always to my great expectations, I was enabled to appear 
to advantage among my companions. I cultivated all 
kinds of sport and exercises. I was one of the most 
expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis.^ I boxed, fenced, 
angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms in college were 
always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, fowling- 
pieces, fishing-rods, foils, and boxing-gloves. A pair of 
leather breeches would seem to be throwing one leg out 
of the half -open drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the 
bottom of every closet. 

My father came to see me at college when I was in the 
height of my career. He asked me how I came on with 
my studies, and what kind of hunting there was in the 
neighborhood. He examined my various sporting appar- 

» The citizens of the town and the students of the university were long 
traditional enemies. 

a A slang term for prize-flghting or dog-fighting and similar sports.. 
? A name given to the upper course of the Thames. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 233 

atns with a curious eye; wanted to know if any of the 
Professors were fox-hunters, and whether they were 
generally good shots, for he suspected their studying so 
much must be hurtful to the sight. We had a day'g 
shooting together: I delighted him with my skill, and 
astonished him by my learned disquisitions on horse-flesh, 
and on Man t on 's guns; ^ so, upon the whole, he departed 
highly satisfied with my improvement at college. 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long with- 
out getting in love. I had not been a very long time a 
man of spirit, therefore, before I became deeply enamored 
of a shopkeeper's daughter in the High-Street, who, in 
fact, was the admiration of many of the students. I wrote 
several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half of my 
pocket-money at the shop, in buying articles which I did 
not want, that I might have an opportunity of speaking to 
her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, with 
bright silver buckles, and a crisp-curled wig, kept a strict 
guard on her, as the fathers generally do upon iheir 
daughters in Oxford; and well they may. I tried to get 
into his good graces, and to be sociable with him, but all 
in vain. I said several good things in his shop, but he 
never laughed : he had no relish for wit and humor. He 
was one of those dry old gentlemen who keep youngsters 
at bay. He had already brought up two or three daugh- 
ters, and was experienced in the ways of students. He 
was as knowing and wary as a gray old badger that has 
often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and 
starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, with his 
daughter under his arm, was enough to deter all graceless 
youngsters from approaching. 

I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to liave 

1 Joseph Manton was tlie naaker ot the best guns of tbe time. 



234 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

several conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened 
articles in the shop. I made terrible long bargains, and 
examined the articles over and over before I purchased. 
In the meantime, 1 would convey a sonnet or an acrostic 
under cover of a piece of cambricj or slipped into a pair of 
stockings; I would whisper soft nonsense into her ear as 
I haggled about the price ; and would squeeze her hand 
tenderly as I received my half -pence of change in a bit of 
whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to all haber- 
dashers who have pretty daughters for shop girls, and 
young students for customers. I do not know whether 
my words and looks were very eloquent, but my poetry 
was irresistible; for, to tell the truth, the girl had some 
literary taste, and was seldom without a book from the 
circulating library. 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so 
potent with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of 
this fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sentimental 
correspondence for a time across the counter, and I sup= 
plied her with rhyme by the stocking-full. At length I 
prevailed on her to grant an assignation. But how was 
this to be effected? Her father kept her always under 
his eye; she never walked out alone; and the house was 
locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All these 
difficulties served but to give zest to the adventure. I 
proposed that the assignation should be in her own 
chamber, into which I would climb at night. The plan 
was irresistible. — A cruel father, a secret lover, and a 
clandestine meeting! All the little girl's studies from 
the circulating library seemed about to be realized. 

But what had I in view in making this assignation? 
Indeed, I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I 
say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 235 

wanted to have an opportunity .of seeing more of her; and 
the assignation was jnade, as I have done many things else, 
heedlessly and without forethought. I asked myself a 
few questions of the kind, after all my arrangements 
were made, but the answers were very unsatisfactory. 
*'Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl?" said I to 
myself. "No!" was the prompt and indignant answer. 
"Am I to run away with her?" — "whither, and to what 
purpose?" — "Well, then, am I to marry her?" — "Poh! a 
man of my expectations marry a shopkeeper's daughter!" 
"What then am I to do with her?" "Hum — why — let 
me get into the chamber first, and then consider" — and so 
the self-examination ended. 

Well, sir, "come what come might," I stole under cover 
of the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea.^ All was 
quiet. At the' concerted signal her window was gently 
opened. It was just above the projecting bow-window of 
her father's shop, which assisted me in mounting. The 
house was low, and I was enabled to scale the fortress with 
tolerable ease. I clambered with a beating heart; I 
reached the casement ; I hoisted my body half into the 
chamber; and was welcomed, not by the embraces of my 
expecting fair one, but the grasp of the crabbed-looking 
old father in the crisp-curled wig. 

I extricated myself from his clutches, and endeavored 
to make my retreat ; but I was confounded by his cries of 
thieves! and robbers! I was bothered too by his Sunda}'" 
cane, which was amazingly busy about my head as I 
descended, and against which my hat was but a poor 
protection. Never before had I an idea of the activity of 
an old man's arm, and the hardness of the knob of an 

I rpj— conventional name for a sweet-heart, from its use by Cervantes in 
Don Quixote. 



236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ivory -headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed 
my footing and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was 
immediately surrounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt 
not, were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no 
situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle in the 
fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a house- 
breaker; and to exonerate myself of a greater crime, I 
had to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I was, 
and why I came there. Alas! the varlets knew it already, 
and were only amusing themselves at my expense. My 
perfidious Muse had been playing me one of her slippery 
tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father had found my 
sonnets and acrostics hid away in holes and corners of his 
shop; he had no taste for poetry like his daughter, and 
had instituted a rigorous though silent observation. He 
had moused upon onr letters, detected our plans, and pre- 
pared everything for my reception. Thus was I ever 
doomed to be led into scrapes by the Muse. Let no man 
henceforth carry on a secret amour in poetry ! 

The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by 
the pommelling of my head and the anguish of my sprain; 
so he did not put me to death on the spot. He was 
even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on which I 
was carried back to college like a wounded warrior. The 
porter was roused to admit me. The college gate was 
thrown open for my entry. The affair was blazed about 
the next morning, and became the joke of the college 
from the buttery to the hall. 

I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confine- 
ment by my sprain, which I passed in translating 
Boethius's "Consolations , of Philosophy."^ I received a 

1 A famous Latin book of philosophy ^vTitten in prison, before his execu- 
tion in 525, by Boethius, a Roman senator. It was translated into English 
by King Alfred, Chaucer, Queen Elizabeth, and others. The humor of the 
allusion here lies, of course, in its extravagance. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 237 

most tender and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, who 
had heen sent to a relation in Coventry. She protested 
her innocence of my misfortune, and vowed to be true to 
me "till deth." I took no notice of the letter, for I was 
cured for the present, both of love and poetry. Women, 
however, are more constant in their attachments than 
men, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary. I 
am assured that she actually remained faithful to her vow 
for several months; but she had to deal with a cruel 
father, whose heart was as hard as the knob of his cane. 
He was not to be touched by tea.rs nor poetry, but abso- 
lutely compelled her to marry a reputable young trades- 
man, who made her a happy woman in spite of herself and 
of all the rules of romance, and, what is more, the mother 
of several children. They are at this very day a thriving 
couple, and keep a snug corner- shop just opposite the 
figure of Peeping Tom,^ at Coventry. 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies 
at Oxford; though they were not always as 537ere as 
these, nor did I always pay as dear for my lessons. To 
be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous man- 
ner, gradually getting knowledge of good and evil, until I 
had attained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come 
of age when I heard of the sudden death of my father. 
The shock was severe, for though he had never treated 
me with much kindness, still he was my father, and at his 
death I felt alone in the world. 

I returned home, and found myself the solitary master 
of the paternal mansion. A crowd of gloomy feelings 
came thronging upon me. It was a place that always 
sobered me, and brought me to reflection; now espe- 

* The story of Peeping Tom, a tale of ungovernable curiosity, is well toW 
m Tennyson's poem, Lady Go4iva, 



238 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

cially; it looked so deserted and melancholy. I entered 
the little breakfasting-rooni. There were my father's 
whip and spurs, hanging; by the fireplace; the *' Stud- 
Book," '* Sporting Magazine," and "Racing Calendar," 
his only readiDg. His favorite spaniel lay on the hearth- 
rug. The poor animal, who had never before noticed me, 
now came fondling about me, licked my hand, then 
looked round the room, whined, wagged his tail slightly, 
and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full force of 
the appeal. "Poor Dash," said I, "we are both alone in 
the world, with nobody to care for us, and will take care 
of one another." — The dog never quitted me afterwards. 

I could not go into my mother's room — my heart swelled 
when I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait 
hung in the parlor, just over the place where she used to 
sit- As I cast my eyes on it, I thought that it looked 
at me with tenderness, and I burst into tears. I was a 
careless dog, it is true, hardened a little, perhaps, by 
living in public schools, and buffeting about among 
strangers, who cared nothing for me ; but the recollection 
of a mother's tenderness was overcoming. 

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long 
depressed. There was a reaction in my system, that 
always brought me up again after every pressure ; and, 
indeed, my spirits were always most buoyant after a tem- 
porary prostration. I settled the concerns of the estate 
as soon as possible; realized my property, which was not 
very considerable, but which appeared a vast deal to me, 
having a poetical eye that magnified everything ; and find- 
ing myself, at the end of a few months, free of all further 
business or restraint, I determined to go to London and 
enjoy myself. Why should I not? — I was young, ani- 
mated, joyous; had plenty of funds for present pleasures, 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 239 

and my uncle's estate in the perspective. Let those 
mope at college, and pore over books, thought I, who 
have their way to make in the world ; it would be ridic- 
ulous drudgery in a youth of my expectations. Away to 
London, therefore, I rattled in a tandem, determined to 
take the town gayly. I passed through several of the 
villages where I had played the Jack Pudding a few years 
before ; and I visited the scenes of many of my adventures 
and follies merely from that feeling of melancholy pleasure 
which we have in stepping again the footprints of fore- 
gone existence, even when they have passed among weeds 
and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part of my 
journey, so as to take in West End and Hampstead, the 
scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal 
of the booth. As 1 drove along the ridge of Hampstead 
Hill, by Jack Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where 
Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in our 
ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on London. I 
almost expected to see her again, standing on the hill's 
brink, "like Niobe, all tears;" ^ — mournful as Babylon in 
ruins! 

"Poor Columbine!" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou 
wert a gallant, generous girl — a true woman ;^ — faithful to 
the distressed, and ready to sacrifice thyself in the cause 
of worthless man!" 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for there 
was always something of self-reproach with it. I drove 
gayly along the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and 
stable-boys, as I managed my horses knowingly down the 
steep street of Hampstead; when, just at the skirts of 
the village, one of the traces of my leader came loose. I 
pulled up, and as the animal was restive, and my servant 

» HamUt, I. ii. 149. 



24U TALES 01 A TRAVELLER 

a bungler, I called for assistance to the robustious master 
of a snug ale-house, who stood at his door with a tankard 
in his hand. He came readily to assist me, followed by 
his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her arms, 
and two more at her heels. I stared for a moment, as if 
doubting my eyes. I could not be mistaken: in the fat, 
beer-blown landlord of the ale-house I recollected my old 
rival Harlequin, and in his slattern spouse the once trim 
and dimplllig Columbine. 

The change of my looks from youth to manhood, and 
the change in my circumstances, prevented them from 
recognizing me. They could not suspect in the dashing 
young buck, fashionably dressed and driving his own 
equipage, the painted beau, with old peaked hat, and long, 
flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with kindness 
towards Columbine, and I was glad to see her establish- 
ment a thriving one. As soon as the harness was 
adjusted, I tossed a small purse of gold into her ample 
bosom; and then, pretending to give my horses a hearty 
cut of the whip, I made the lash curl with a whistling 
about the sleek sides of ancient ^ Harlequin. The horses 
dashed off like lightning, and I was whirled out of sight 
before either of the parties could get over their surprise 
at my liberal donations. I have always considered this 
as one of the greatest proofs of my poetical genius ; it was 
distributing poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London en cavalier ^^ and became a blood 
upon town. I took fashionable lodgings, in the West 
End; employed the first tailor; frequented the regular 
lounges ; gambled a little ; lost my money good-humoredly ; 
9,nd gained a number of fashionable, good-for-nothing 

* Does the word mean old? 
9 Like a cavalier or noble. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 241 

acquaintances. I gained some reputation also for a man 
of science, having become an expert boxer in the conrse 
of my studies at Oxford. I was distinguished, therefore, 
among the gentlemen of the Fancy; became hand and 
glove with certain boxing noblemen, and was the admira- 
tion of the Fives Court. ^ A gentleman's science, how- 
ever, is apt to get him into bad scrapes ; he is too prone to 
play the knight-errant, and to pick up quarrels which less 
scientifical gentlemen would quietly avoid. I undertook 
one day to punish the insolence of a porter. He was a 
Hercules of a fellow, but then I was so secure in my 
science! I gained the victory of course. The porter 
pocketed his humiliation, bound up his broken head, and 
went about his business as unconcernedly as though noth- 
ing had happened ; while I went to bed with my victory, 
and did not dare to show my battered face for a fortnight : 
by which I discovered that a gentleman may have the 
worst of the battle even when victorious. 

1 am naturally a philosopher, and no one can moralize 
better after a misfortune has taken place ; so I lay on my 
bed and moralized on this sorry ambition, which levels 
the gentleman with the clown. I know it is the opinion 
of many sages, who have thought deeply on these mat- 
ters, that the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull- 
dog courage of the nation ; and far be it from me to decry 
the advantage of becoming a nation of bull-dogs; but 1 
now saw clearly that it was calculated to keep up the 
breed of English ruffians. "What is the Fives Court,'* 
said I to myself, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, "but 
a college of scoundrelism, where every bully-ruffian in the 
land may gain a fellowship? What is the slang language 

1 Fives Is a game somewliat like our hand-ball; hand-tennis. Here " fives- 
court " is evidently equivalent to boxing -ring. 



242 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

> 

of the Fancy but a jargon by which fools and knaves com- 
mune and understand each other, and enjoy a kind of 
superiority over the uninitiated? What is a boxing-match 
but an arena, where the noble and the illustrious are 
jostled into familiarity with the infamous and the vulgar? 
What, in fact, is the Fancy itself, but a chain of easy 
communication, extending from the peer down to the 
pickpocket, through the medium of which a man of rank 
may find he has shaken hands, at three removes, with the 
murderer on the gibbet? — 

"Enough!" ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced 
through the force of my philosophy, and the pain of my 
bruises, — "I'll have nothing more to do with the Fancy." 
So when I had recovered from my victory, I turned my 
attention to softer themes, and became a devoted admirer 
of the ladies. Had I had more industry and ambition in 
my nature, I might have worked my way to the very 
height of fashion, as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing 
around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an 
unhappy life ; there are few things so sleepless and mis- 
erable as your cultivators of fashionable smiles. I was 
quite content with that kind of society which forms the 
frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken possession 
of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but 
to go about and sow visiting-cards, and I reaped a whole 
harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address 
were by no means against me. It was whispered, too, 
among the young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, 
and wrote poetry ; and the old ladies had ascertained that I 
was a young gentleman of good family, handsome fortune, 
and "great expectations." 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so 
intoxicating to a young man, and which a man of poetical 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 243 

temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it; 
that rapid variety of sensations; that whirl of brilliant 
objects; that succession of pungent pleasures! I had no 
time for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to 
write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by transpira- 
tion. I lived poetry; it was all a poetical dream to me. 
A mere sensualist knows nothing of the delights of a 
splendid metropolis. He lives in a round of animal grati- 
fications and heartless habits. But to a young man of 
poetical feelings, it is an ideal world, a scene of enchant- 
ment and delusion ; his imagination is in perpetual excite- 
ment, and gives a spiritual zest to every pleasure. 

A season of town life, however, somewhat sobered me of 
my intoxication; or rather I was rendered more serious by 
one of my old complaints — I fell in love. It was with a 
very pretty, though a very haughty fair one, who had come 
to London under the care of an old maiden aunt to enjoy 
the pleasures of a winter in town, and to get married. 
There was not a doubt of her commanding a choice of 
lovers; for she had long been the belle of a little cathedral 
city, and one of the poets of the place had absolutely 
celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. The 
most extravagant anticipations were formed by her friends 
of the sensation she would produce. It was feared by 
some that she might be precipitate in her choice, and take 
up with some inferior title. The aunt was determined 
nothing should gain her under a lord. 

Alas! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the 
one thing needful — she had no money. So she waited in 
vain for duke, marquis, or earl, to throw himself at her 
feet. As the season waned, so did the lady's expectations; 
when, just towards the close, I made my advances. 

I was most favorably received by both the young lady 



244 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and lier aunt. It is true, I liad no title ; but then such 
great expectations. A marked preference was immediately 
shown me over two rivals, the younger son of a needy 
baronet;, and a captain of dragoons on half-pay. I did not 
absolutely take the field in form, for I was determined not 
to be precipitate; but I drove my equipage frequently 
through the street in which she lived, and was always sure 
to^ see her at the window, generally with a book in her 
hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a 
long copy of verses ; anonymously, to b^ sure, but she 
knew my handwriting. Both aunt and niece, however, 
displayed the most delightful ignorance on the subject. 
The young lady showed them to me; wondered who they 
could be written by ; and declared there was nothing in 
this world she loved so much as poetry; while the maiden 
aunt would put her pinching spectacles on her nose, and 
read them, with blunders in sense and sound, excruciating 
to an author's ears; protesting there was nothing equal 
to themin the whole Elegant Extracts.^ 

The fashionable season closed without my adventuring to 
make a declaration, though I certainly had encouragement. 
I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgment 
in the young lady's heart; ai^d, to tell the truth, the aunt 
overdid her part, and was a little too extravagant in her 
liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts were not to be 
captivated by the mere personal merits of their nieces' 
admirers; and I wanted to ascertain how much of all this 
favor I owed to driving an equipage, and having great 
expectations. 

I had received many hints how charming their native 
place was during the summer months; what pleasant 

1 The Elegant Extracts, or Useful and Entertaming Pieces of Poetry , by 
Vicjesimus Knox (1752-1821.) 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 24:5 

society they had; and what beautiful drives about the 
neighborhood. ' They had not, therefore, returned home 
long, before I made my appearance in dashing style, driv- 
ing down the principal street. The very next morning I 
was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with the 
reigning belle. Questions were whispered about the aisles, 
after service, "Who is he?" and "What is he?" And the 
replies were as usual, "A young gentleman of good family 
and fortune, and great expectations." 

I was much struck with the peculiarities of this reverend 
little place. A cathedral, with its dependencies and regu- 
lations, presents a picture of other times, and of a different 
order of things. It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. 
There still linger about it the silence and solemnity of the 
cloister. In the present instance especially, where the 
cathedral was large, and the town small, its influence was 
the mbre apparent. The solemn pomp of the service, per- 
formed twice a day, with the grand intonations of the 
organ, and the voices of the choir swelling through the 
magnificent pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sabbath 
over the place. This routine of solemn ceremony con- 
tinually going on, independent, as it were, of the world ; 
this daily offering of melody and praise, ascending like 
incense from the altar, had a powerful effect upon my 
imagination. 

The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed of 
families connected with the cathedral, and others of mod- 
erate fortune, but high respectability, who had nestled 
themselves under the wings of the cathedral to enjoy 
good society at moderate expense. It was a highly aristo- 
cratic little circle; scrupulous in its intercourse with 
others, and jealously cautious about admitting anything 
common or unclean. 



246 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school had taken 
refuge here. There were continual interchanges of ciyili- 
ties, and of small presents of fruits and delicacies, and of 
complimentary crow-quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred 
community like this, living entirely at ease, little duties, 
and little amusements, and little civilities, filled up the 
day. I have seen, in the midst of a warm day, a cor- 
pulent, powdered footman, issuing from the iron gateway 
of a stately mansion, and traversing the little place with 
an air of mighty import, bearing a small tart on a large 
silver salver. 

Their evening amusements were sober and primitive. 
They assembled at a moderate hour; the young ladies 
played music, and the old ladies, whist; and at an early 
hour they dispersed. There was no parade on these 
social occasions. Two or three old sedan chairs were in 
constant activity, though the greater part made their exit 
in clogs and pattens, with a footman or waiting-maid 
carrying a lantern in advance ; and long before midnight 
the clank of pattens and gleam of lanterns about the quiet 
little place told that the evening party had dissolved. 

Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my ease 
as I had anticipated considering the smallness of the 
place. I found it very different from other country places, 
and that it was not so easy to make a dash there. Sinner 
that I was! the very dignity and decorum of the little 
community was rebuking to me. I feared my past idle- 
ness and folly would rise in judgment against me. I stood 
in awe of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I saw 
mingling familiarly in society. I became nervous on this 
point. The creak of a prebendary's shoes, sounding 
from one end of a quiet street to another, was appalling 
to me; and the sight of a shovel hat was sufficient at any 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 247 

time to check me in the midst of my boldest poetical 
soarings. 

And then the good aunt could not be quiet, but would 
cry me up for a genius, and extol my poetry to every one. 
So long as she confined this to the ladies it did well 
enough, because they were able to feel and appreciate 
poetry of the new romantic schooL Nothing would con- 
tent the good lady, however, but she must read my verses 
to a prebendary, who had long been the undoubted critic 
of the place. He was a thin, delicate old gentleman, of 
mild, polished manners, steeped to the lips in classic 
lore, and not easily put in a heat by any hot-blooded 
poetry of the day. He listened to my most fervid 
thoughts and fervid words without a glow; shook his 
head with a smile, and condemned them as not being 
according to Horace, as not being legitimate poetry. 

Several old ladies, who had heretofore been my admir- 
ers, shook their heads at hearing this: they could not 
think of praising any poetry that was not according to 
Horace ;^and as to anything illegitimate, it was not to be 
countenanced in good society. Thanks to my stars, how- 
ever, I ha'd youth and novelty on my side: so the young 
ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite of Hor- 
ace and illegitimacy. 

I consoled myself with the good opinion of the young 
ladies, whom I had always found to be the best judges of 
poetry. As to these old scholars, said I, they are apt to 
be chilled by being steeped in the cold fountains of the 
classics. Still I felt that I was losing ground, and that it 
was necessary to bring matters to a point. Just at this 
time there was a public ball, attended by the best society 
of the place, and by the gentry of the neighborhood: I 
took great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I 



5348 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

had never looked better. I had determined that night to 
make my grand assault on the heart of the young lady, to 
battle it with all my forces, and the next morning to 
demand a surrender in due form, 

I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and flutter, which 
generally took place among the young ladies on my 
appearance, I was in fine spirits ; for, to tell the truth, 
I had exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of wine on 
the occasion. I talked, and rattled, and said a. thousand 
silly things, slap-dash, with all the confidence of a man 
sure of his audi tors, ^ — and everything had its effect. 

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot 
gathering together in the upper part of the room. By 
degrees it increased^ A tittering broke out here and 
there, and glances were cast round at me, and then there 
would be fresh tittering. Some of the young ladies would 
hurry away to distant parts of the room, and whisper to 
their friends. Wherever they went, there was still this 
tittering and glancing at me. 1 did not know what to 
make of all this. I looked at myself from head to foot, 
and peeped at my back in a glass, to see if anything was 
odd about my person ; any awkward exposure, any whim- 
sical tag hanging out — no — everything was right — I was a 
perfect picture. I determined that it must be some choice 
saying of mine that was bandied about in this knot of 
merry beauties, and I determined to enjoy one of my 
good things in the rebound. I stepped gently, therefore, 
up the room, smiling at every one as 1 passed, who, I 
must say, all smiled and tittered in return. I approached 
the group, smirking and perking my chin, like a man 
who is full of pleasant feeling, and sure of being well 
rece ived. The cluster of little belles opened as I advanced. 

Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 249 

midst of them but my early and tormenting flame, the 
everlasting Sacharissa! She was grown, it is trae, into 
the full beauty of womanhood; but showed, by the pro- 
voking merriment of her countenance, that she perfectly 
recollected me, and the ridiculous flagellations of which 
she had twice been the cause. 

I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule burst- 
ing over me. My crest felL The flame of love went 
suddenly out, or was extinguished by overwhelming 
shame. How I got down the room I know not; I fancied 
every one tittering at me-. Just as I reached the door, I 
caught a glance of my mistress and her aunt listening to 
the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady raising her hands 
and eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up, as I 
imagined, with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more, 
but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the bot- 
tom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat, 
and did not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks, 
until I had lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral. 

I now returned to town thoughtful and crestfallen. 
My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and 
without calculation. The dream of love was over, and the 
reign of pleasure at ^n end. T determined to retrench 
while I had yet a trifle left; so selling my equipage and 
horses for half their value, I quietly put the money in my 
pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, 
with my great expectations, I could at any time raise 
funds, either on usury or by borrowing; but I was prin- 
cipled against both, and resolved by strict economy to 
make my slender purse ,hold out until my uncle should 
give up the ghost, or rather the estate. I stayed at home 
therefore and read, and would have written, but I had 
already suffered too much from my poetical productions. 



250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

which had generally involved me in some ridiculous scrape. 
I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a straitened 
money-borrowing air, upon which the world began to shy 
me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the world 
for its conduct; it has always used me well. When I have 
been flush and gay, and disposed for society, it has 
caressed me; and when I have been pinched and reduced, 
and wished to be alone, why, it ha3 left me- alone; and 
what more could a man desire? Take my word for it, 
this world is a more obliging world than people generally 
represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retire- 
ment and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle 
was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's 
affections to receive his dying breath and his last testa- 
ment. I found him attended by his faithful valet, old 
Iron John; by the woman who occasionally worked about 
the house, and by the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, 
whom I had occasionally hunted about the park. Iron 
John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered 
the room, and received me with something almost like a 
smile of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the 
foot of the bed ; and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now 
grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid 
vacancy at a distance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber 
was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick-room. 
The cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was 
covered with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From 
underneath the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. 
Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blunderbusses, 
horse-pistols, and a cut-and-thrust sword, with which he 
had fortified his room to defend his life and treasure. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 251 

He had employed no physician during his illness; and 
from the scanty relics lying on the table, seemed almost 
to have denied himself the assistance of a cook. 

When I entered the room, he was lying motionless ; his 
eyes fixed and his mouth open : at the first look I thought 
him a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn 
his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over 
his face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfaction. It 
was the only smile he had ever given me, and it went to 
my heart. "Poor old man!'- thought I, **why should 
you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that 
my presence has the power to cheer you?" 

**Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low 
gasping voice, — *'I am glad you are come. I shall now 
die with satisfaction. Look,'* said he, raising his with- 
ered hand, and pointing, — **look in that box on the table: 
you will find that I have not forgotten you." 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in 
my eyes. 1 sat down by his bedside, and watched him, 
but he never spoke again. My presence, however, gave 
him evident satisfaction ; for every now and then, as he 
looked to me, a vague smile would come over his visage, 
and he would feebly point to the sealed box on the table. 
As the day wore away, his life appeared to wear away with 
it. Towards sunset his head sank on the bed, and lay 
motionless, his eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained 
open, and thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction 
of my kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this 
o^range old man, who had thus reserved the smile of kind- 
ness to his death-bed, — like an evening sun after a 
gloomy day, just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving 
the corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for the night. 



252 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing 
my uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the blood- 
hounds howled without, as if they knew of the death of 
their old master. Iron John almost grudged me the 
tallow candle to burn in my apartment, and light up 
its dreariness, so accustomed had he been to starveling 
economy. I could not sleep. The recollection of my 
uncle's dying-scene, and the dreary sounds about the 
house, affected my mind. These, however, were suc- 
ceeded by plans for the future, and I lay awake the greater 
part of the night, indulging the poetical anticipation how 
soon 1 should make these old walls ring with cheerful 
life, and restore the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew 
that nobody respected his memory, and I was determined 
none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral, and 
make merry at his grave. He was buried in the church 
of the neighboring village, though it was not the burying- 
place of his race; but he had expressly enjoined that he 
should not be buried with his family ; he had quarrelled 
with most of them when living, and he carried his resent- 
ments even into the grave. 

I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of my own 
purse, that I might have done with the undertakers at 
once, and clear the ill-omened birds from the premises. I 
invited the parson of the parish, and the lawyer from the 
village, to attend at the house the next morning, and hear 
the reading of the will. I treated them to an excellent 
breakfast, a profusion that had not been seen at the 
house for many a year. As soon as the breakfast things 
were removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and 
the boy, for I was particular in having every one present 
and proceeded regularly. The box was placed on the 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 253 

table — all was silence — I broke the seal — raised the lid, 
and beheld — not the will — but my accursed poem of Doubt- 
ing Castle and Giant Despair! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered 
man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost to feeling, could 
have treasured up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of 
a boy, to punish him with such cruel ingenuity? I now 
could account for his dying smile, the only one he had 
ever given me. He had been a grave man all his life, it 
was strange that he should die in the enjoyment of a joke, 
and it was hard that that joke should be at my expense. 

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to compre- 
hend the matter. "Here must be some mistake," said 
the lawyer; * 'there is no will here." 

'*0h!" said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, 
*^if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I can find one." 

He retired with the same singular smile with which he 
had greeted me on my arrival, and which I now appre- 
hended boded me no good. In a little while he returned 
with a will perfect at all points, properly signed and 
sealed, and witnessed and worded with horrible correct- 
ness; in which the deceased left large legacies to Iron 
John and his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to 
the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter astonishment, was 
his son by this very woman ; he having married her pri- 
vately, and, as I verily believe, for no other purpose than 
to have an heir, and so balk my father and his issue of 
the inheritance. There was one little proviso, in which 
he mentioned, that, having discovered his nephew to 
have a pretty turn for poetry, he presumed he had no 
occasion for wealth ; he recommended him, however, to 
the patronage of his heir, and requested that he might 
have a garret, rent-free, in Doubting Castle. 



254 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED 

MAN 

Mr. Buckthorne had paused at the death of his uncle, 
and the downfall of his great expectations, which formed, 
as he said, an epoch in his history ; and it was not until 
some little time afterwards, and in a very sober mood, 
that he resumed his party-colored narrative. 

After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, said he, 
when the gate closed between me and what was once to 
have been mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, 
and completely abandoned to fortune. What was to 
become of me? I had been brought up to nothing but 
expectations, and they had all been disappointed. I had 
no relations to look to for counsel or assistance. The 
world seemed all to have died away from me. Wave after 
wave of relationship had ebbed off, and I was left a mere 
hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly cast 
down, but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. I could 
not realize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I was 
to get forward. I was now to endeavor to make money. 
The idea was new and strange to me. It was like being 
asked to discover the philosopher's stone. I had never 
thought about money otherwise than to put my hand into 
my pocket and find it; or if there were none there, to 
wait until a new supply came from home. I had consid- 
ered life as a. mere space of time to be filled up with enjoy- 
ments; but to have it portioned out into long hours and 
days of toil, merely that I might gain bread to give me 
strength to toil on — to labor but for the purpose of per- 
oetnating a life of labor, was new and appalling to me. 
This may appear a very simple matter to some ; but it will 



REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN 255 

be understood by every unlucky wight in my predicament, 
who has had the misfortune of being born to great expec- 
tations. 

I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my 
boyhood; partly because I absolutely did not know what 
to do with myself, and partly because I did not know that 
I should ever see them again. I clung to them as one 
clings to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually 
cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat down on a 
little hill within sight of my paternal home, but I did not 
venture to approach it, for I felt compunction at the 
thoughtlessness with which I had dissipated my patri- 
mony ; yet was I to blame when I had the rich possessions 
of my curmudgeon of an uncle in expectation? 

The new possessor of the place was making great altera- 
tions. The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which 
stood about it were cut down; my mother's flower-garden 
was thrown into a lawn, — all was undergoing a change. 
I turned my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to 
another part of the country. 

How thoughtful a little adversity makes one! As I 
came within sight of the schoolhouse where I had so often 
been flogged in the cause of wisdom, you would hardly 
have recognized the truant boy, who, but a few years 
since, had eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned 
over the paling of the play-ground, and watched the 
scholars at their games, and looked to see if there might 
not be some urchin among them like I was once, full of 
gay dreams about life and the world. The play -ground 
seemed smaller than when I used to sport about it. The 
house and park, too, ^f the neighboring squire, the father 
of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk in size and diminished 
in magnificence. Thr distant hills no longer appeared so 



256 TALES OF A TRAVELLER ' 

far off, and, alas^. no longer awakened ideas of a fairy 
land beyond. 

As I was rambling pensively through a neighboring 
meadow, in which I had many a time gathered primroses, 
I met the very pedagogue who had been the tyrant and 
dread of my boyhood. I had sometimes vowed to myself, 
when suffering- under his rod, that I would have my 
revenge if ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. 
The time had come ; but I had no disposition to keep my 
vow. The few years which had matured me into a vigor- 
ous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared 
to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and 
wondered that this poor helpless mortal could have been 
an object of terror to me; that I should have watched 
with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or dreaded the 
power of that trembling hand. He tottered feebly along 
the path, and had some difficulty in getting over a stile. 
I ran and assisted him. He looked at me with surprise, 
but did not recognize me, and made a low bow of humility 
and thanks. I had no disposition to make myself known, 
for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he 
had taken, and the pains he had inflicted, had been equally 
useless. His repeated predictions were fully verified, and 
I felt that little Jack Buckthorne, the idle boy, had 
grown to be a very good-for-nothing man. 

This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have told 

you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once 

1 1 was schooled for them. The most thoughtless of mor- 

' tals will some time or other have his day of gloom, when 

ihe will be compelled to reflect. 

I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to 
perform, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past 
levity. Having passed a night at Leamington, I set off 



REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN 257 

by a private path, which leads up a hill through a grove 
and across quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or 
rather hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the village church. 
It is an old low edifice of gray stone, on the brow of a. 
small hill, looking over fertile fields, towards where the 
proud towers of Warwick castle lift themselves against the 
distant horizon. 

A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. Under 
one of them my mother lay buried. You have no doubt 
thought me a light, heartless being. I thought myself 
so ; but there are moments of adversity which let us into 
some feelings of our nature to which we might otherwise 
remain perpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave; the weeds were already 
matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among 
nettles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands ; 
but I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too 
severely. I sat down on the grave, and read over and 
over again the epitaph on the stone. 

It was simple, — but it was true. I had written it. 
myself. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in 
vain; my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. 
My heart had gradually been filling daring my lonely 
wanderings; it w^as now charged to the brim, and over- 
flowed. I sank upon the grave, and buried my face in the 
tall grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in man- 
hood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom 
of my mother. Alas! how little do we appreciate a 
mother's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we in 
youth of all her anxieties and kindness! But -w^hen she 
is dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of the 
world come withering to our hearts; when we find how 
hard it is to meet with true sympathy; how few love us- 



'^58 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for ourselves; bow few will befriend us in our misfor- 
tunes; tbenit is tbat we tbitik of tbe motber we have lost. 
It IS true I bad always loved ,my motber, even in my most 
heedless days ; but I felt bow inconsiderate and ineffectual 
had been my love. My heart melted as I retraced tbe 
days of infancy, when I was led by a mother's hand, and 
rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care 
or sorrow. *'0 my mother!" exclaimed I, burying my 
face again in tbe grass of the grave; "oh that I were once 
more by your side; sleeping never to wake again on the 
cares and troubles of this world." 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and tbe 
violence of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It was 
a hearty, honest, natural discharge of grief which had 
been slowly accumulating, and gave me wonderful relief .~ 
I rose from the grave as if I had been offering up a sacri- 
fice, and I felt as if that sacrifice bad been accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by 
one, the weeds from her grave: tbe tears trickled more 
slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was 
a comfort to think that she had died before sorrow and 
poverty came upon her child and all his great expectations 
were blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked upon the* 
landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle of 
a peasant from an adjoining field came cheerily to my ear. 
I seemed to respire hope and comfort with the free air 
that whispered through the leaves, and played lightly 
with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. A 
lark, rising from the field before me, and leaving as it 
were a stream of song behind him as he rose, lifted my 
fancy with him. He hovered in the air just above the 
place where the towers of Warwick castle marked the 



REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN 259 

horizon, and seemed as if fluttering with delight at his 
own melody. ** Surely," thought I, •*if there was such 
a thing as transmigration of souls, this might be taken for. 
some poet let loose from earth, but still revelling in song, 
and carolling about fair fields and lordly towers." 

At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry 
rose within me. A thought sprang at once into my 
mind. — "I will become an author!" said I. "I hate 
hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has 
brought me nothing but pain; let me try what it will do 
when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit.** 

The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me heaved 
a load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it from 
the very place where it was formed. It seemed as though 
my mother's spirit whispered it to me from the grave. 
''I will henceforth," said I, "endeavor to be all that she 
'fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if she were 
witness of my actions; I will endeavor to acquit myself in 
such a manner that, when I revisit her grave, there may 
at least be no compunctious bitterness with my tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation' 
of my vow. I plucked some primroses that were growing 
there, and laid them next my heart. I left the church- 
yard with my spirit once more lifted up, and set out a 
third time for London in the character of an author. 

Here my companion made a pause and I waited in anx- 
ious suspense, hoping to have a whole volume of literary 
life unfolded to me. He seemed, however, to have sunk 
into a fit of pensive musing, and when, after some time, I 
gently roused him by a question or two as to his literary 
career. 

**No," said ne, smiling: *'over that part of my story I 
wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest 



260 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sacred for me. Let those who have never ventured into 
the republic of letters still look upon it as a fairy land. 
Let them suppose the author the very being they picture 
him from his works — I am not the man to mar their 
illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is admiring 
the silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from the 
entrails of a miserable worm. " 

**Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your 
literary history, let me know at least if you have had any 
further intelligence from Doubting Castle." 

"Willingly," replied he, "though I have but little to 
communicate." 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 

A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my 
receiving any accounts of my cousin and his estate. 
Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the subject, that I 
wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At 
length chance took me to that part of the country, and I 
could not refrain from making some inquiries. 

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self- 
willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness 
had prevented his mingling with the neighboring gentry: 
in spite of his great fortune, he had been unsuccessful in 
an attempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the par- 
son, and had at length shrunk into the limits of such a 
society as a -mere man of wealth can gather in a country 
neighborhood. 

He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table, at 
which were collected the, loose livers of the country round, 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 261 

and fche shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. 
When he could get no other company, he would smoke 
and drink with his own servants, who in turn fleeced and 
despised him. Still, with all his apparent prodigality^ 
he had a leaven of the old man in him, which showed 
that he was his true born son. He lived far within his 
income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious in 
many points, wherein a gentleman would be extravagant. 
His house-servants were obliged occasionally to work on 
his estate, and ps^rt of the pleasure-grounds were ploughed 
up and devoted to husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his liquors were 
strong and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were expended 
in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud 
and arrogant at his own table, and exacted a rich man's 
homage from his vulgar apd obsequious guests. 

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown 
impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over 
him, and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the 
estate. The old man had retired to the neighboring vil- 
lage, where he lived on the legacy of his late master, in a 
small cottage, and was as seldom seen put of it as a rat 
out of his hole in daylight. 

The cub, like Caliban,^ seemed to have an instinctive 
attachment to his mother. She resided with him, but, 
from long habit, she acted more as a servant than as a 
mistress of the mansion; for she toiled in all the domestic 
drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlor. 
Such was the information which I collected of my rival 
cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me put of my 
expectations. 

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this 

1 Prospero's monster-servant in The Tempest. 



362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

scene of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd kind 
of life that was passing within the mansion of my mater- 
nal ancestors. I determined to d,o so in disguise. My 
booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be^ very 
familiar with my countenance, and a few years make a 
great difference between youth and manhood. I under- 
stood he was a breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; I 
dressed myself therefore as a substantial farmer, and with 
the assistance of a red scratch that came low down on my 
forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of 
the park, and was admitted by an old woman who was 
washing in a dilapidated building, which had once been 
a porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble 
avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down 
and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely better 
keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. The grass was 
overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted pruning and 
clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the 
lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish-ponds. 
The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage- 
wheels, as my cousin received few visitors but such as 
came on foot or horseback, and never used a carriage 
himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had the old 
family carriage drawn out from among the dust and 
cobwebs of the coach-house, and furbished up, and driven, 
with his mother, to the village church, to take formal 
possession of the family pew ; but there was such hooting 
and laughing after them, as they passed through the vil- 
lage, and such giggling and bantering about the church- 
door, that the pageant had never made a reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied 
out, barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, 



\ 

THE BOOBY SQUIRE ^ 263 

rather than barking, of two old worn-out blood-hounds, 
which I recognized for the ancient lifeguards of my uncle. 
The house had still a neglected random appearance, 
though much altered for the better since my last visit. 
Several of the windows were broken and patched up with 
boards, and others had been bricked up to save taxes.^ I 
observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys, a 
phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establish- 
ment. On passing that part of the house where the din- 
ing-room was situated, I heard the souud of boisterous 
merriment, where three or four voices were talking at 
once, and oaths knd laughter were horribly mingled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the 
door, a tall, hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat 
put over the under garments of a ploughman. I requested 
to see the master of the house, but was told that he was 
at dinner with some "gemmen" of the neighborhood. I 
'made known my business, and sent in to know if I might 
talk with the master about his cattle, for I felt a great 
desire to have a peep at him. in his orgies. 

' Word was returned that he was engaged with company, 
and could not attend to business, but that if I would step 
in and take a drink of something I was heartily welcome. 
1 accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of 
all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table; two or 
three clownish ser\^ants were lounging 'about; everything 
had a look of confusion and carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had the same 
air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The 
once rich curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture 
greased and tarnished. On entering the dining-room, I 
found a number of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen,. 

- Windows beyond a certain niimber were formerly taxed in England. 



264 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, 
tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were lying 
about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, 
and one was gnawing a bone under a side-table. The 
master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was 
greatly altered. He had grown thickset and rather 
gummy, with a fiery foxy head of hair. There was a sin- 
gular mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in his 
countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, 
with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green coat, 
^nd was evidently, like his guests, a little fiushed with 
drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whim- 
sical muzzy look, like men whose senses were a little 
obfuscated by beer rather than wine. 

My cousin, (God forgive me! the appellation sticks in 
my throat), my cousin invited me with awkward civility, 
or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table 
and drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the 
crops, politics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud 
politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without con- 
tradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal,^ and 
talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, *'as 
every gentleman of fortune should do." The village 
exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate 
*'very true" to everything he said. The conversation 
turned upon cattle; he boasted of his breed, his mode of 
■crossing it, and of the general management of his estate. 
This unluckily drew out a history of the place and of the 
family. He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest 
irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned 
my name, and my blood began to boil. He described my 
frequent visits to my uncle, when I was a lad, and 1 
found the varlet, even at that time, imp as he was, had 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 265 

known that he was to inherit the estate. He described 
the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening of the 
will, with a degree of coarse humor that I had- not 
expected from him ; and, vexed as I was, I could not help 
joining in the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, 
even though made at my own expense. He went on to 
speak of my various pursuits, my strolling freak; and 
that somewhat nettled me; at length he talked of my 
parents. He ridiculed my father ; I stomached even that, 
though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother 
with a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at my 
feet. 

Here a tumult succeeded : the table was nearly over- 
turned; bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing and 
clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of 
both of us, to keep us from doing any further mischief. 
I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My 
cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I 
agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant in me, and I 
longed to pommel him soundly. 

Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had 
a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, 
as he advanced to fight, said something about his gener- 
osity in showing me such fair play, when I made such an 
unprovoked attack upon him at his own table. *'Stop 
there," cried I, in a rage. **Unprovoked? know that I 
am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory 
of my mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said ; he drew 
back, and thought for a moment. 

"Nay, damn it," said he, "that's too much — that's 
clean another thing — IVe a mother myself — and no one 
shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." 



»66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He paused again: nature seemed to have a rough strug- 
gle in his rude bosom. 

**Damn it, cousin," cried he, **I'm sorry for what I 
said. Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, 
and I like thee the better for it. Here's my hand: come 
and live with me, and damn me but the best room in the 
house, and the best horse in the stable, shall be at thy 
service. " 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance 
of nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. 
I forgave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, 
of having been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. 
I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I 
bore him no ill-will ; and then making my way through 
the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's 
domains forever. — This is the last I have seen or heard of 
my cousin, or of the domestic concerns of Doubting 
Castle. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 

As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne near 
one of the principal theatres, he directed my attention to 
a group of those equivocal beings that may often be seen 
hovering about the stage-doors of theatres. They were 
marvellously ill-favored in their attire, their coats but- 
toned up to their chins ; yet they wore their hats smartly 
on one side, and had a certain knowing, dirty-gentleman- 
like air, which is common to the subalterns of the drama. 
Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. 

*' These," said he, *'are the ghosts of departed kings and 
heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons ; com- 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 267 

mand kingdoms and armies; and after giving away realms 
and treasures over night, have scare a shilling to pay for 
a breakfast in the morning. Yet they have the true 
vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious employ- 
ment ; and they have their pleasures too ; one of which is 
to lounge in this way in the sunshine, at the stage-door, 
during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes 
on all passers-by. Nothing is more traditional and 
legitimate than the stage. Old scenery,, old clothes, old 
sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, are handed down 
from generation to generation ; and will probably continue 
to be so until time shall be no more. Every hanger-on 
of a theatre becomes a wag by inheritance, and flourishes 
about at tap-rooms and sixpenny clubs with the property 
jokes of the green-room." 

- While ainusing ourselves with reconnoitring this group, 
we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. 
He was a weather-beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time 
and beer, who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of 
robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and walking noblemen. 

** There is something in the set of that hat, and the 
turn of that physiognomy, extremely familiar to me," 
said Buckthorne. He looked a little closer, — "I cannot 
be mistaken, that must be my old brother of the trunch- 
eon, Flimsey, the tragic hero of the Strolling Company. ' ' 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident 
signs that times went hard with him, he was so finely and 
shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, 
and of the Lord Townly cut ; single breasted, and scarcely 
capable of meeting in front of his body, which, from long 
intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a 
beer- barrel. He wore a pair of dingy -white stockinet 
pantaloons which had much ado to reach his waistcoat, a 



268 TALES OF A TRAyELLEk 

great quantity of dirty cravat; and a pair of old russefc- 
colored tragedy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew 
him aside, and made himself known to him. The tragic 
veteran could scarcely recognize him, or believe that he 
was really his quondam associate, * 'little Gentleman Jack." 
Buckthorne invited him to a neighboring coffee-house to 
talk over old times; and in the course of a little while we 
were put in possession of his history in brief. 

He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling 
company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or 
rather had been driven from it so abruptly. At length 
the manager died, and the troop was thrown into con- 
fusion. Every one aspired to the crown, every one was 
for taking the lead; and the manager's widow, although 
a tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pronounced it 
utterly impossible for a woman to keep any control over 
such a set of tempestuous rascallions, 

**Upon this hint, I spoke," ^ said Flimsey. I stepped 
forward, and offered my services in the most effectual 
way. They were accepted. In a week's time I married 
the widow, and succeeded to the throne. "The funeral 
baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage 
table,"* as Hamlet says. But the ghost of my predeces- 
sor never haunted me ; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, 
bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, 
not omitting the widow, without the least' molestation. 

I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our company was 
pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took 
the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the 
treasury. We carried off the palm from all the rival 

i Othello, I. iii. 166. 
' Hamlet, I. ii. 180. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 269 

shows at country fairs ; and I assure you we have even 
drawn full houses, and been applauded by the critics at 
Bartlemy Fair^ itself, though we had Astley's troop, ^ 
the Irish giant, and "the death of Nelson" in wax work, 
to contend against. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of com- 
mand. I discovered that there were cabals breaking out 
in the company, headed by the clown, who you may 
recollect was a terribly pecyish, fractious fellow, and 
always in ill-humor. I had a great mind to turn him off 
at once, but I could not do without him, for there was not 
a droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was 
comic, for he had but to turn his back upon the audience, 
and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. He 
felt his importance, and took advantage of it. He would 
keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come 
behind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the very 
devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, knowing 
that comic actors are a little prone to this infirmity of 
temper. 

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to 
struggle with, which was the affection of my wife. As 
ill luck would have it, she took it into her head to be very 
fond of me, and became intolerably jealous. I could not 
keep a pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared 
embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I 
have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, '*to very 
rags,"^ as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one 
of the very best dresses in the wardrobe, merely because 



1 Bartholomew Fair was formerly one of the chief aunnal fairs Sa 

England ; it was held at Smithfield in London. 

2 Astley's troop of trained horses. 
sjra?r,let,Ill. ii. 11. 



270 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

she saw me kiss her at the side scenes; though I give you 
my honor it was done merely by way of rehearsal. 

This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural 
liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me; 
and because they are indispensable to the success of a com- 
pany at a fair, where one has to vie with so many rival 
theatres. But when once a jealous wife gets a freak in 
her head, there's no use in talking of interest or anything 
else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled when, 
during a fit of her tantrums, she was plajing high tragedy, 
and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should 
give way to her humor, and stab some fancied rival in 
good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be expected, con- 
sidering the weakness of my flesh, and the violence of my 
rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, 
whose spouse was continually ferreting out some new 
intrigue, and making the heavens almost too hot to hold 
bim. 

At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at 
}^ country fair, when I understood the theatre of a neigh- 
boring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to 
be enrolled in a settled company, and the height of my 
desire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was 
manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked down 
upon me. Here was an opportunity not to be neglected. 
T concluded an agreement with the proprietors, and in a ^ 
few days opened the theatre with great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, "the 
high top-gallant of my joy,"^ as Eomeo says. No 
longer a chieftahi of a wandering tribe, but a monarch of 
a legitimate throne, and entitled to call even the great 

1 Romeo and Juliet, II. iv. 202. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 271 

potentates of Oovent Garden and Drury Lane cousins. 
Yoii, no doubt, think my happiness complete. Alas, sir! 
I was^one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one 
knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager; but 
above all of a country manager. No one can conceive 
the contentions and quarrels within dqors, the oppressions 
and vexations from without. I was pestered with the 
bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my 
green-room, and played the mischief among my actresses. 

. But there was no shaking them off. It would have been 
ruin to affront them; for though troublesome friends, 
they would have been dangerous enemies. Then there 
was the village critics and village amateurs, who were 
continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into 
a passion if I would not take it; especially the village 
doctor and the village attorney, who had both been to 
London occasionally, and knew what acting should be. 
I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as 

' ever were collected together within the walls of a theatre. 
I had been obliged to combine my original troop with 
some of the former troop of the theatre, who were favor- 
ites of the public. Here was a mixture that produced per- 
petual fermento They were all the time either fighting or 
frolicking with each other, and I scarely know which 
mood was least troublesome. If they quarrelled, every- 
thing went wrong, and if they were friands, they were 
continually playing off some prank upon each other, or 
upon me; for I had unhappily acquired among them the 
character of an easy, good-natured fellow, — the worst 
character that a manager can possess. 

Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy; for 
there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and 
hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical 



272 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

vagabonds. I relished them well enough, it is true, 
while I was merely one of the company, but as a manager 
I found them detestable. They were incessantly bring- 
ing some disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolics 
and their pranks about the country town. All my lec- 
tures about the importance of keeping up the dignity of 
the profession and the respectability of the company 
were in vain. The villains could ^lot sympathize with 
the delicate feelings of a man in station. They even 
trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I have had 
the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded audience of at 
least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the actors 
had hid away the breeches of Eosalind ; ^ and have known 
Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy, with 
a dish-clout pinned to his skirts. Such are the baleful 
consequences of a manager's getting a character for good- 
nature. 

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who 
came down starring, as it is called, from London. Of 
all baneful influences, keep me from that of a London 
star. A first-rate actress going the rounds of the country 
theatres is as bad as a blazing comet whisking t^bout the 
heavens, and shaking fire and plagues and discords from 
its tail. 

The moment one of these *' heavenly bodies" appeared 
in my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. My theatre 
was overrun by provincial dandies, copper- washed counter- 
feits of Bond Street loungers, who are always proud to be 
in the train of an actress from town, and anxious to be 
thought on exceeding good terms with her. It was 
really a relief to me when some random young nobleman 

would come in pursuit of the bait, and awe all this small 

_«.. .. . I... ■ — — , 

» See As You Like It 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 273 

fry at a distance. I hare always felt myself more at 
ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a country 
town. 

And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity 
and my managerial authority from the visits of these great 
London actors! 'Sblood, sir, I was no longer master of 
myself on my throne. I was hectored and lectured in my 
own green-room, and made an absolute nincompoop on 
my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and capri- 
cious as a London star at a country theatre. I dreaded 
the sight of all of them, and yet if I did not engage them, 
I was sure of having the public clamorous against me. 
They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my 
fortune; but they swallowed up all the profits by their 
insatiable demands. They were absolute tapeworms to 
my litMe theatre; the more it took in the poorer it grew. 
They were sure to leave me with an exhausted public, 
empty benches and a score or two of affronts to settle 
among the townsfolk, in consequence of misunderstand- 
ings about the taking of places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial 
career was patronage. Oh sir! of all things deliver me 
from the patronage of the great people of a country town. 
It was my ruin. You must know that this town, though 
small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks; 
being a busy little trading and manufacturing town. The 
mischief was that their greatness was of a kind not to be 
settled by reference to the court calendar, or college of 
heraldry ; ^ it was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of 
greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell 
you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier 

^ The College of Heraldry has for its chief function the granting of coats 
of arms to those who should receive them, and the preservation of geneal- 
ogies. 



274 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

feuds which take place in these '^'debatable lands" of 
gentility^ The most violent dispute that I ever knew in 
high life was one which occurred at a country town, on a 
question of precedence between the ladies of a manufac- 
turer of pins and a manufacturer of needles « 

At the town where I was situated there were perpetual 
altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, 
for instance, was at daggers-drawings with the head shop- 
keepei-'s, and both were too rich and had too many friends 
to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies 
held their heads still higher ; but they in turn were kept 
in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her 
own carriage ; while a masculine widow of cracked charac- 
ter and second -handed fashion, who lived in a large house 
and claimed to be in some way related to nobility, looked 
down upon them all. To be sure, her manners were not 
over-elegant, nor her fortune over-large; but then, sir, 
her blood — oh, her blood carried it all hollow; there 
was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her 
veins. 

After all, her claims to high connection were ques- 
tioned, and she had frequent battles for precedence at 
balls and assemblies with some of the sturdy dames of the 
neighborhood, who stood upon their wealth and their- 
virtue; but then she had two dashing daughters, who 
dressed as fine as dragoons, and had as high blood as 
their mother, and seconded her in everything; so they 
carried their point with high heads, and everybody hated, 
abused, and stood in awe of the Fantadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable, world in this self- 
important little town. Unluckily*, I was not as well 
acquainted with its politics as I should have been. I had 
found myself a stranger and in great perplexities during 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 275 

my first season! T determined, therefore, to put myself 
under the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to 
take the field with the prejudices of the..puhlic in m'y 
favor. I cast around my thoughts for that purpose, and 
in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. NTo one 
seemed to me to have a more ahsolute sway in the world 
of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed 
the box-door the loudest at the theatre ; and had the most 
beaux attending on them, and talked and laughed loudest 
during the performance; and then the Miss Fantadlins 
wore always more feathers and flowers than any other 
ladies; and used quizzing-glasses incessantly. The first 
evening of my theatre's re-opening, therefore, was 
announced in staring capitals on the play-bills, as under 
the patronage of "The Honorable Mrs. Fantadlin." 

Sir, the whole community flew to arms! the banker's 
wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having the 
preference; her husband being high bailiff and the richest 
man in the place. She immediately issued invitations for 
a large party, for the night of the performance, and asked 
many a lady to it whom she never had noticed before. 
Presume to patronize' the theatre! insufferable! And 
then for me to dare to term her *'The Honorable!" 
What claim had she to the title forsooth? The fashiona- 
ble world had long groaned under the tyranny of the 
Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause 
against this new instance of assumption. Those, too,' who 
had never before been noticed by the banker's lady were 
ready to enlist in any quarrel for the honor of her acquain- 
tance. All minor feuds were forgotten. The doctor's 
lady and the lawyer's lady met together, and the manufac- 
turer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other; 
and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the theatre a 



276 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

hore^ and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian 
Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidouranion.^ 
' Alas for poor Pillgarlick! I knew little the mischief 
that was brewing against me. My box-book remained 
blank; the evening arrived; but no audience. The music 
struck up to a tolerable pit and gallery, but no fashion- 
ables! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but 
the time passed away; the play was retarded, until pit and 
gallery became furious; and I had to raise the curtain, 
and play my greatest part in tragedy to "a beggarly 
account of empty boxes. " 

It is true the Fantadlins came late as was their custom, 
and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and 
red shawls ; but they were evidently disconcerted at find- 
ing they had no one to admire and envy them, and were 
enraged at this glaring defection of their fashionable fol- 
lowers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the banker's 
lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary 
and uncomfortable state; and though they had the theatre 
almost to themselves, yet, for the first time, they talked 
in whispers. They left the house at the end of the first 
piece, and I never saw them afterwards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over 
the patronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was 
deserted ; my actors grew discontented because they were 
ill paid; my door became a hammering place for every 
bailiff in the country; and my wife became more and more 
shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted comfort. 

I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed 
and henpecked man ; I took to the bottle, and tried to 
tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry 
the bottle ; it is no doubt an excellent remedy in many 

» A macMne for representing the motions of the planets. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 277 

cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my 
voice, coppered my nose, but neither hnj^roved my wife 
nor my affairs. My establishment became a scene of con- 
fusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, 
and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every 
one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the 
troop deserted, and, like deserting soldiers, carried off 
their arms and accoutrements with them. In this manner 
my wardrobe took legs and walked away, my finery 
strolled all over the country, my swords and daggers 
glittered in every barn, until, at last, my tailor made 
"one fell swoop," ^ and carried off three dress-coats, half 
a dozen doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-colored panta- 
loons. This was the "be all and the end all' '^ of my 
fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, 
thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal 
too; so I secretly gathered together the jewels of my 
wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, 
slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole 
off at dead of night, "the bell then beating one,"^ leav- 
ing my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious 
subjects, and my merciless foes the bumbailiffs. 

Such, sir, was the "end of all my greatness."* I was 
heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned 
once more into the ranks. I had for some time the usual 
run of an actor's life. I played in various country 
theatres, at fairs, and in barns ; sometimes hard pushed, 
sometimes flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an 
ace of making my fortune, and becoming one of the won- 
ders of the age. 

1 Macbeth, IV. iii. 220. ~~ — — — 

2 Macbeth, I. vii. 5. 

3 Hamlet, I. i. 39. 

4 Henry VIII.. HI. iL 351. 



278 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I was playing the part of Eicliard the Third in a coun- 
try barn, and in my best style ; for, to tell the truth, I 
was a little in liquor, and the critics of the company 
always observed that I played with most effect when I had 
a glass too much. There was a thunder of applause when 
J came to that part where Richard cries for ''a horse! a 
horse!" ^ My cracked voice had always a wonderful 
effect here; it was like two voices run into one; you 
I would have thought two men had been calling for a horse, 
or that Richard had called for two horses. And when I 
flung the taunt at Richmond, '' Richard is Jioarse with 
calling thee to arms," I thought the barn would have 
come down about my ears with the raptures of the audience. 

The very next morning a person waited upon me at my 
lodgings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his dress 
for he had a large brooch in his bosom, thick rings on his 
fingers, and used a quizzing-glass. And a gentleman he 
proved to be ; for I soon ascertained that he was a kept 
author, or kind of literary tailor to one of the great Lon- 
don theatres; one who worked under the manager's direc- 
tions, and cut up and cut down plays, and patched and 
pieced, and new faced, and turned them inside out; in 
short, he was one of the readiest and greatest writers of 
the day. 

He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of some- 
thing that might be got up for a prodigy. The theatre, 
it seems, was in desperate condition — nothing but a mira- 
cle could save it. He had seen me act Richard the night 
before, and had pitched upon me for that miracle, I had 
a remarkable bluster in my style and swagger in my gait. 
I certainly differed from all other heroes of the barn: so 
the thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theat- 

» Richard II L, V. iv. 7. 



THE STROl^LING MANAGER 279 

rical wonder, as the restorer of natural and legitimate 
acting, as the only one who could understand and act 
Shakspeare rightly. 

When he opened his plan I shrunk from it with becom- 
ing modesty, for well as I thought of myself, I doubted 
my competeucy to such an undertaking. 

I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakspeare* 
having played his characters only after mutilated copies, 
interlarded with a great deal of my own talk by way of 
helping memory or heightening the effect. 

"So much the better!" cried the gentleman with rings 
on his fingers; *'so much the better! New readings, sir! 
— new readings! Don't 'study a line — let us have Shak- 
speare after your own fashion. ' ' 

"But then my voice was cracked; it could not fill a 
London theatre. " 

**So much the better! so much the better! The public 
is tired of intonation — the ore rotundo ^ has had its day. 
No, sir, your cracked voice is the very thing; — spit and 
splutter, and snap and snarl, and 'play the very dog' about 
the stage, and you'll be the making of us." 

*'But then," — I could not help blushing to the end of 
my very nose as I said it, but I was determined to be 
candid, — "but then," added I, "there is one awkward 
circumstance : I have an unlucky habit — my misfortunes, 
and the exposures to which one is subjected in country 
barns, have obliged me now and then to — to — take a drop 
of something comfortable — and so — and so" 

"What! you drink?" cried the agent, eagerly. 

I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. 

"So much the better! so much the better! The irregu- 
larities of genius ! A sober fellow is commonplace. The 

1 Full, round voice. 



^80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

public like an actor that drinks. Give me your hand, sii 
Yoa're the very man to make a dash with." 

I still hung back with lingering diffidence, declaring 
myself unworthy of such praise. 

" 'Sblood, man," cried he, **no praise at all. Yoti 
don't imagine / think you a wonder; I only want the 
public to think so. Nothing is so easy as to gull the 
public, if you only set up a prodigy » Common talent any- 
body can measure by common rule; but a prodigy sets 
all rule and measurement at defiance." 

These words opened my eyes in an instant : we now 
came to a proper understanding, less flattering, it is true, 
to my vanity, but much more satisfactory to my judgment. 

It was agreed that I should make my appearance before 
a London audience, as a dramatic sun just bursting from 
behind the clouds : one that was to banish all the lesser 
lights and false fires of the stage. Every precaution was 
to be taken to possess the public mind at every avenue. 
The pit was to be packed with sturdy clappers; the news- 
papers secured by vehement puffers; every theatrical 
resort to be haunted by hireling talkers. In a word, every 
engine of theatrical humbug was to be put in action. 
Wherever I differed from former actors, it was to be main- 
tained that I was right and they were wrong. If I ranted, 
it was to be pure passion ; if I were vulgar, it was to be 
pronounced a familiar touch of nature; if I made any 
queer blunder, it was to be a new reading. If my voice 
cracked, or I got out in my part, I was only to bounce, 
^nd grin, and snarl at the audience, and make any horri- 
ble ' grimace that came into my head, and my admirers 
were to call it "a great point," and to fall back and shout 
and yell with rapture. 

"In short," said the gentleman with the quizzing- i 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 281 

glass, "strike out boldly and bravely: no matter how or 
what you do, so that it be but odd and strange. If you 
do but escape pelting the firsb night, your fortune and the 
fortune of the theatre is made." 

I set off for London, therefore, in company with the 
kept author, fall of new plans and new hopes. I was to 
be the restorer of Shakspeare and Nature, and the legiti- 
mate drama; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my 
cracked voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my 
usual luck attended me : before I arrived at the metrop- 
olis a rival wonder had appeared; a woman who could 
dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to 
the gallery with fireworks all round her. She was seized on 
by the manager with avidity. She was the saving of the 
great national theatre for the season. Nothing was talked 
! of but Madame Saqui's fireworks and flesh-colored panta- 
loons ; and Nature, Shakspeare, the legitimate drama, 
and poor Pillgarlick, were completely left in the lurch. 

When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, other 
wonders succeeded: horses, and harlequinades, and mum- 
mery of all kinds; until another dramatic prodigy was 
brought forward to play the very game for which I had 
been intended. I called upon the kept author for an 
explanation, but he was deeply engaged in writing a melo- 
drama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy on being 
interrupted in his studies. However, as the theatre was 
in some measure pledged to provide for me, the manager 
acted, according to the usual phrase, "like a man of 
honor," and I received an appointment in the corps. It 
had been a turn of a die whether I should be Alexander 
the Great or Alexander the coppersmith ^ — the latter car- 
ried it. I could not be put at the head of the drama, so 

1 2 Timothy, IV. 14. 



282 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I was put at the tail of it. In other words, I was enrolled 
among the number of what are called useful men; those 
who enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy line. 
I was perfectly satisfied with my lot ; for I have always 
been a bit of a philosopher. If my situation was not 
splendid, it at least was secure; and in fact I have seen 
half a dozen prodigies appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles, 
and pass away, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied, and 
unmolested, at the foot of the profession. 

You may smile; but let me tell you, we "useful men" 
are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe 
from hisses, and below the hope of applause. We fear 
not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So 
long as we get the words of our parts, and they are not 
often many, it is all we care for. We have our own mer- 
riment, our own friends and our own admirers, — ^for every 
actor has his friends and admirers, from the highest to the 
lowest. The first-rate actor dines with the noble amateur, 
and entertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs 
and theatrical slip-slop. The second-rate actors have 
their second-rate friends and admirers, with whom they 
likewise spout tragedy and talk slip-slop; — and so down 
even to us ; who have oilr friends and admirers among 
spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, — who treat us to a 
dinner now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same 
scraps and songs and slip-slop that have been served up 
by our more fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, exper- 
ience what true pleasure is. I have known enough of 
notoriety to pity the poor devils who ^re called favorites 
of the public. I would rather be a kitten in the arms of 
a spoiled child, to be one moment patted an4 pampered 
and the next moment thumped over the head with the 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 283 

gpoon. I smile to see our leading actors fretting them- 
selves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, 
questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its duration. 
I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle 
and importance, and trouble and perplexities of our man- 
ager — who is harassing himself to death in the hopeless 
effort to please everybody. 

I have found among my fellow-subalterns two or three 
quondam managers, who like myself have wielded the 
sceptres of country theatres, and we have many a sly joke 
together at the expense of the manager and the public. 
Sometimes, too, we meet, like deposed and exiled kings, 
talk over the events of our respective reigns, moralize 
over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the 
great and little world ; which, I take it, is the essence of 
practical philosophy. 

Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. 
It grieves me much that I could not procure from him 
further particulars of his history, and especially of that 
part of it which passed in town. He had evidently seen 
much of literary life ; and as lie had never risen to emi- 
nence in letters, and yet was free from the gall of disap- 
pointment, I had hoped to gain some candid intelligence 
concerning his contemporaries. The testimony of such an 
honest chronicler would have been particularly valuable 
at the present time; when, owing to the extreme fecun- 
dity of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criticisms, 
and biographical sketches that are daily poured forth 
concerning public characters, it is extremely difficult to 
get at any truth concerning them. 

^ He was always, however, excessively reserved and fas- 
tidious on this point, at which I very much wonder^ed^ 



284 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

authors in general appearing to think each other fair 
game, and being ready to serve each other up for the 
amusement of the public. 

A few mornings after hearing the history of the 
ex-mauager, I was surprised by a visit from Bucjkthorne 
before I was put of bed. He was dressed for travelling. 

**Give me joy! give me joy!" said he, rubbing his hands 
with the utmost glee, '*my great expectations are real- 
ized!" 

I gazed at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. 

"My booby cousin is dead!" cried he; *'may he rest in 
peace ! he nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse 
in a fox-chase. By good luck, he lived long enoug^h to 
make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an 
odd feeling of retributive justice, and partly because, as 
he says, none of his own family nor friends know ho)v to 
enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the country to take pos- 
session. I've done with authorship. That for the critics !" 
said he, snapping his finger. **Come down to Doubting 
Castle, when I get settled, and, egad, I'll give you a 
rouse. "^ So saying, he shook me heartily by the hand, 
and bounded off in high spirits. 

A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. 
Indeed, it was but lately that I received a letter, written 
in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate in 
fine order ; everything went to his wishes ; and what was 
more, he was married to Sacharissa, who it seems had 
always entertained an ardent though secret attachment 
for him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming 
to his estate. 

*'I find," said he, "you are a little given to the sin of 



» The word is related to Dutch roes ' 'drunkenness"; secondarily it means 

full fflflrSS." "Int.ftm-np.rn.t.ft mirtVl " Tt. -mAO-nc Vit^vo oimnlTr "o rrr\r\,^ f-irvia »» 



•a lull glass 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 28.^ 

luthorship, which I renounce: if the anecdotes I have 
pven you of my story are of any interest, you may make 
ise of them; but come down to Doubting Castle, and ^ee 
low we live, and I'll give you my whole London life ov^t* 
L social glass; and a rattling history it shall be about 
iuthors and reviewers." 

If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he 
promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. 



PART THIRD 
THE ITALIAN BAJSTDITTI 



287 



A few words of direction may be of help in the pronunciation 
of the Italian words and phrases in the stories of this group. 

The vowels should be pronounced approximately as follows: 

a like a in father. 

£ has two pronunciations, open e like e in met^ close e like a 
in late; the latter is of the more frequent occurrence. 

i like ee in seen. 

o also has two '^alues, open o, like the o of pot, and close o 
like the o of hone. 

u like the u of rude. 

j is counted a vowel in Italian, being pronounced like the y of 
year. 

The chief differences between the pronunciation of the con- 
sonants in English and Italian are: 

c before e or i is pronounced like cli in chess; before the other 
vowels it is pronounced like h. 

CO before e or i is pronounced like the ch of a word like achieve 
{at-chieve), both consonants being pronounced, the first as t, the 
second as ch. 

g before e or * is pronounced like the j of just; before the 
other vowels it is pronounced like the g of gate. 

SG before e or i is pronounced like sh of shake; before the 
other vowels it is pronounced like sc of scarlet. 

ZZ is pronounced like t + ts, both letters being pronounced, 
e. g. mezza'ro, met-tsa'ro 

gn is pronounced as though it were written ny, e. xg. Cant' 
pagna. Cam-pan' y a. 

gl is pronounced as though it were written ly, e. g., BrogliOt 
Brol'yo. - 



288 



THE INN AT TEEEACmA* 

t/Tai^k'! crack f crack! crack! ©rack! 

"Here comes the estafette^ tmm Naples,"^ said mine host 
of the inn at Terracina; "briag out the relay," 

The estafette came gallopmg up the road according to 
custom, brandishing over kis head a short-handled whip, 
yith a long, knotted lask, every smack of which made a 
report dike a pistol. He was a tight, square-set young 
fellow, in the usual uniform: a- smart blue coat, orna- 
mented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as 
to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not 
unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with gold 
lace; a pair of stiff riding-boots; but, instead of the usual 
leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers, 
that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty to hide 
behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door, and Jumped from 
his horse. \ 

'*A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of 
breeches," said he, *'and quickly, per Vamor di Dio, I am 
behind my time, and must be off!" 

**San Gennaro!" replied the host; '*why, where has 
thou left thy garment?" 

"Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 

"What, rob an estafette! I never heard of such folly. 
What could they hope to get from thee?" 

1 A sea-coast town in Western Italy, about half way between Naples and 
Rome. The various places mentioned in the stories of this group are to be 
found on any good map of Italy; the reader will be interested in observing 
Irvine's exactness in references to localities. Only those places of more than 
local import will be explained in the noteg. 

' A rapid courier. 

389 



*290 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

** My leather breeclies!" replied the estafette. **They 
were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of 
the captain." 

**Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle 
with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake of a pair 
of leather breeches!" 

The robbing of the government messenger seemed to 
strike the host with more astonishment than any other 
enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, indeed, 
it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been com- 
mitted; the robbers generally taking care not to meddle 
with anything belonging to government. 

The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had not 
lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. 
The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off ; he grasped 
the reins and the stirrup. 

"Were there many robbers in the band!" said a hand- 
some, dark young man, stepping forward from the door 
of the inn. 

'*As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, 
springing into the saddle. 

"Are they cruel to travellers?" said a beautiful young 
Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's 
arm. 

"Cruel, signora!" echoed the estafette, giving a glance 
at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. "Corpo di 
Bacco! They stiletto all the men; and, as to the women" 

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! — The last 

words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, and 
away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pontine 
marshes. 

"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated the fair Venetian, "what 
will become of us!" 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 291 

The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside 
of the walls of JTerracina, under a vast precipitous height 
of rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theo- 
doric the Goth/ The situation of Terracina is remark- 
able. It is a little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the 
frontiers of the Roman territory. There seems to be an 
idle pause in everything about the place. The Mediter- 
ranean spreads before it — that sea without flux or reflux. 
The port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while 
a solitary felucca may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of 
baecala, or codfish, the meagre provision for the quaresima, 
or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a listless, heed- 
less race, as people of soft sunny climates are apt to be; 
but under this passive, indolent exterior are said to lurk 
dangerous qualities. They are supposed by many to be lit- 
tle better than the banditti of the neighboring mountains, 
and indeed to hold a secret correspondence with them. 
The solitary watch-towers, erected here and there along 
the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs that hover.,about 
these shores; while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, 
which dot the distant road, as it winds up through an 
olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there is danger for 
the traveller, and facility for the bandit. Indeed, it is 
between this town and Fondi that the road to Naples is 
most infested by banditti. It has several windings and 
solitary places, where the robbers are enabled to see the 
traveller from a distance, from the brows of hills or 
impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him at lonely 
and difficult passes. 

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that 
have almost formed themselves into an order of society. 

iTheodoric (455?-526), King of the Ostrogoths, i.e., East Goths, est^'o 
lished a Gothic kingdom in Italy. 



292 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which 
openly designates their profession. This is probably done 
to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to give it 
something of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show and finery 
the fancies of the young men of the villages, and thus to 
gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich and pic- 
turesque. They wear jackets and breeches of bright col- 
ors, sometimes gayly embroidered; their breasts are 
covered with medals and relics ; their hats are broad- 
brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with feathers, of 
variously-colored ribands; their hair is sometimes gath- 
ered in silk nets; they wear a kind of sandal of cloth or 
leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and extremely 
flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease and celerity 
among the mountain precipices; a broad belt of cloth, or 
a sash of silk net is stuck full of pistols and stilettos ; a 
carbine is slung at the back; while about them is gen- 
erally thrown, in a negligent manner, a great dingy mantle, 
which serves as a protection in storms, or a bed in their 
bivouacs among the mountains. 

They range over a great extent of wild country, along 
the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states; 
they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for 
retreat, and the impracticable forests of the mountain 
summits, where no force dare follow them. They are 
secure of the good-will of the inhabitants of those regions, 
a poor and semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb 
and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort 
of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and in 
certain frontier towns where they dispose of their plun- 
der. Thus countenanced, and sheltered, and secure in 
the fastnesses of their mountains, the robbers have set 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 2&8 

the weak police of the Italian states at defiance. It is in 
vain that their names and descriptions are posted on the 
doors of country churches, and rewards offered for them 
alive or dead ; the villagers are either too much awed by 
the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by the 
brigands, or have too good an understanding with them 
to be their betrayers. It is true they are now and then 
hunted and shot down like beasts of prey by the gens- 
d'armes^'^ their heads put in iron cages, and stuck upon 
posts by the roadside, or their limbs hung up to blacken 
in the trees near the places where they have committed 
their atrocities ; but these ghastly spectacles only serve ta 
make some dreary pass of the road still more dreary, and 
to dismay the traveller, without deterring the bandit. 

At the time that the estafette made his sudden appear- 
ance almost en cuerjpo^ as has been mentioned, the auda- 
city of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled height. 
They had laid villas under contribution; they had sent 
messages into country towns, to tradesmen and rich 
burghers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, or 
even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of 
refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every 
town, village, and inn, along the principal roads, to give 
them notice of the niovements and quality of travellers. 
They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank and 
fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to write for 
heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on females 
who had fallen into their hands. Such was briefly the 
state of the robbers, or rather such was the account of the 
rumors prevalent concerning them, when the scene took 
place at the inn of Terracina. The dark handsome young 

1 Police. 

2 Half -dressed. 



294 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

man and the Venetian lady, incidentally mentioned, had 
arrived early that afternoon in a private carriage drawn by 
mules, and attended by a single servant. They had been 
recently married, were spending the honey-moon in travel- 
ling through these delicious countries, and were on their 
way to visifc a rich aunt of the bride at Naples. 

The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The stories 
she had heard along the road had filled her with appre- 
hension, not more for herself than for her husband; for 
though she had been married almost a month, she still 
loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Ter- 
racina, the rumors of the road had increased to an alarm- 
ing magnitude f and the sight of two robbers' skulls, 
grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gateway 
of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband had 
tried in vain to reassure her; they had lingered all the 
afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of 
starting that evening, and the parting words of the 
estaf ette completed her affright. 

"Let us return to Eome," said she, putting her arm 
within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for 
protection. *'Let us return to Rome, and give up this 
visit to Naples." 

"And give up the visit to your aunt, too?" said the hus- 
band. ^ 

"Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your 
safety?" said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner that 
showed she really was thinking more of her husband '^ 
safety at the moment than of her own; and being so 
recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is 
very possible that she was ; at least her husband thought 
so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet musical 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 295 

tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a 
Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian 
eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing what- 
ever they professed. He clasped the white hand that had 
been laid within his, put his arm round her slender waist, 
and drawing her fondly to his bosom, *'This night, at 
least," said he, "we will pass at Terracina." 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! Another appari- 
tion of the road attracted the attention of mine host and 
his guests. From the direction of the Pontine marshes, 
a carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving at 
a furious rate ; the postilions smacking their whips like 
mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness or of 
the munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet with a 
servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly fin- 
ished, yet proudly simple construction of the carriage; 
the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conven- 
iences; the loads of box-coats on the dickey; the fresh, 
burly, bluff-looking face of the master at the window; 
and the ruddy, round-headed servant, in close-cropped 
hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, all pro- 
claimed at once that this was the equipage of an English- 
man. 

"Horses to Foudi," said the Englishman, as the land- 
lord came bowing to the carriage-door. 

"Would not his Excellenza alight, and take som& 
refreshments?" 

"No — he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi." 
"But the horses will be some time in getting ready." 
'*Ah! that's always the way; nothing but delay in this 
cursed country!" 

"If his Excellenza would only walk into the house" — 
"No, no, no! — I tell you no! — I want nothing but 



296 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the 
horses are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an 
hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, 
I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster." 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's 
orders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. 

In' the meantime the Englishman got out of the car- 
riage, and walked up and down before the inn, with his 
hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of 
idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He was 
tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness and 
precision; wore a travelling cap of the color of ginger- 
bread; and had rather an unhappy expression about the 
corners of his mouth : partly from not having yet made 
his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on 
at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he 
had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual 
hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use the regular 
phrase, "to get on." Perhaps, too, he was a little sore 
from having been fleeced at every stage. 

After some time the servant returned from the stable 
with a look of some perplexity. 

**Are the horses ready, John?" 

*'No, sir — I never saw such a place. There's no get- 
ting anything done. I think your honor had better step 
into the house and get something to eat ; it will be a long 
while before we get to Fundy. " 

*'D — n the house — it's a mere trick — I'll not eat any- 
thing, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still 
more crusty at the prospect of being so long without his 
dinner. 

"They say your honor's very wrong," said John, "to 
set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 297 

*'Mere tales to get custom." 

*'The estafe^tte which passed us was stopped by a whole 
gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each 
additional piece of information. 

"I don't believe a word of it." 

"They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving 
at the same time a hitch to his own waistband. 

** All humbug!" 

Here the dark handsome young man stepped forward, 
and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken 
English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about 
to make. 

*' Thank "ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands 
deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side-glance of 
suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from his 
civility, he must have a design upon his purse. 

'*We shall be most happy, if you will do us the favor," 
said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a 
sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The 
Englishman cast a look upon her countenance; her beauty 
was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. 
He made a polite bow. *'With great pleasure, Signora," 
said he. 

In short, the eagerness to ''get on" was suddenly slack- 
ened ; the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi, 
by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; John 
chose an apartment in the inn for his master's reception; 
and preparations were made to remain there until morn- 
ing. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as 
i were indispensable for the night. There was the usual 
parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios and 
dressing -boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences 



398 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiter- 
ers about the inn-door, wrapped up in grekt dirt-colored 
cloaks, with only a hawk's-eye uncovered, made many 
remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage that 
seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn 
talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with 
its gold and silver furniture, that was spread out on the 
toilet table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was 
taken out of the trunk. The strange Milor'^s ^ wealth, and 
the treasures he carried about him, were the talk, that 
evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions 
and arrange his dress for table; and, after considerable 
labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his 
appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from 
the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He , 
made a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing English 
way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the compli- 
mentary salutations of the Continent, considered extremely 
cold. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, 
as the Englishman called it, was now served : heaven and 
earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to 
furnish it ; for there were birds of the air, and beasts of 
the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, 
too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to 
cook his master a beefsteak; and made his appearance, ^ 
loaded with ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne pepper, and 
Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that ware- 
house, the carriage, in which his master seemed desirous 
of carrying England about the world with him. Indeed 
the repast was one of those Italian farragoes which require 

1 " Milor " is tlie foreigner's pronunciation of the English " My lord." 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 399 

a little qualifying. The tureen of soup was a black sea, 
with livers, and limbs, and fragments of all kinds of 
birds, and beasts floating like wrecks about it. A meagre- 
winged animal, which my host called a delicate chicken, 
had evidently died of a consumption. The macaroni was 
smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. There 
was what appeared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which 
the Englishman ate with great relish; but had nearly 
refimded them when told that they were vipers, caught 
among the rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great 
delicacy. 

Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen sooner 
than eating, whatever may be the cookery ; and nothing 
brings him into good-humor with his company sooner than 
eating together; the Englishman, therefore, had not half 
finished his repast and his bottle, before he began to think 
the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, and 
his wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast, the usual topics of travellers 
were discussed, and among others the reports of robbers, 
which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian. The land- 
lord and waiter dipped into the conversation with that 
familiarity permitted on the Continent, and served up so 
many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, that they 
almost frightened away the poor lady's appetite. The 
Englishman, who had a nation^ antipathy to everything 
technically called "humbug," listened to them all with 
a certain screw of the mouth, expressive of incredulity. 
There was the well-known story of the school of Terra- 
cina, captured by the robbers; and one of the scholars 
cruelly massacred, in order to bring the parents to terms 
for the ransom of the rest. And another, of a gentleman 
01 Rome, who received his son's ear in a letter, with 



300 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



A 



information, that his son would be remitted to him in this 
way, by instalments, nntil he paid the required ransom. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales, 
and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, 
doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was 
just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great Eng- 
lish lord and his family, when the Englishman, tired of 
his volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced these 
accounts to be mere travellers' tales, or the exaggerations 
of ignorant peasants, and designing innkeepers. The 
landlord was indignant at the doubt levelled at his stories, 
and the innuendo levelled at his cloth; he cited, in cor- 
roboration, half a dozen tales still more terrible. 

**I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman^ 
*'But the robbers have been tried and executed!" 
**Allafarce!" 

**But their heads are stuck up along the road!" 
**01d skulls accumulated during a century." 
The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the 
door, **San Gennaro! quanto sono singolari questi 
Inglesi!"^ 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival 
of more travellers; and, from the variety of voices, or 
rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the rattling of J"^?" 
wheels, and the general uproar both within and without, 
the arrival seemed to be numerous. 

It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy : a kind ol 
caravan which sets out on certain days for the transporta-l '^^" 
tion of merchandise, with an escort of soldiery to protect 
it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of its 
protection, and a long file of carriages generally accom 
pany it. 



flSlO 

liftri 
k i[ 

ploii 
"Pi, 
"Ti 

"Ad 
"]Iil 
"Loi 



"Ak 

"Sicii 
l^opliii. 



He 



If: 



How odd these Englisli are ! 



THE INN AT TERRACINa 301 

A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or 

/■alter returned; being hurried hither and thither by that 

empest of noise and bustle, which takes place in an 

talian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession of 

ustom. When mine host reappeared, there was a smile 

ff triumph on his countenance. 

I ''Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table, "perhaps 

he signer has not heard of what has happened?" 

I "What?" said the Englishman, dryly. 

! "Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresb 

xploits of the robbers." 
I "Pish!" 
"There's more news of the English Milor and his fam 

y," said the host, exultingly. 
i "An English lord? What English lord?" 
' "Milor Popkin." 

I "Lord Popkins? I never heard of such a title!" 
j "0! sicuro a great nobleman, who passed through here 

i^ely with mi ladi and her daughters. A magnifico, one 

f the grand counsellors of London, an almanno!" 
"Almanno — almanno? — tut — he means alderman." 
"Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa 

*opkin, and the Signorine Popkin!" said mine host, 

riumphantly. 
He now put himself into an attitude, and would have 

lunched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by 
yhe Englishman, who seemed determined neither to credit 

or indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned for him 

9 clear away the table. 

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked; that 
■ f mine host continued to wag with increasing volubility, 

s he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the room ; 

nd the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it 



302 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

died away along the corridor, was the iteration of the 
favorite word, Popkin — Popkin — Popkin— pop — pop- 
pop. 

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the house 
with stories, as it had with guests. The Englishman and 
his companions walked after supper up and down the large 
hall, or common room of the inn, which ran through the 
centre of the building. It was spacious and somewhat 
dirty, with tables placed in various parts, at which groups 
of travellers were seated; while others strolled about, 
waiting, in famished impatience, for their evening's 
meal. 

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all ranks 
and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of vehicles. 
Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the travelling 
together, under one common escort, had jumbled them 
into a certain degree of companionship on the road; 
besides, on the Continent travellers are always familiar, 
and nothing is more motley than the groups which gather 
casually together in sociable conversation in the public 
rooms of inns. 

The formidable number, and formidable guard of the 
procaccio had prevented any molestation from banditti; 
but every party of travellers had its tale of wonder, and 
one carriage vied with another in its budget of assertions 
and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen 
peering over the rocks; carbines and stilettos gleaming 
from among the bushes; suspicious-looking fellows, with 
flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon- 
noitred a strasfsflins: carriage, but had disappeared on see- 
ing tne guara. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that 
avidity with which we always pamper any feeling of alarm; 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 303 

even the Englishman hegan to feel interested in the com- 
mon topic, desirous of getting more correct information 
than mere flying reports. Conquering, therefore, that 
shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman solitary in 
crowds, he approached one of the talking groups, the 
oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long aquiline 
nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, beaming 
from under a green velvet travelling- cap, with gold tassel. 
He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by 
choice, and something of an improvisatore. 

In the present instance, however, he was talking in 
plain prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one who 
talks well, and likes to exert his ^alent. A question or 
two from the Englishman drew copious replies; for an 
Englishman sociable among strangers is regarded as a 
phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated with 
attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave 
muclf the same account of the banditti that I have already 
furnished. 

"But why does not the police exert itself, and root 
them out?" deriianded the Englishman. 

'* Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are 
too strong, " replied the other. "To root them out would 
be a more difficult task than you imagine. They are con- 
nected and almost identified with the mountain peasantry 
and the people of the villages. The numerous bands 
have an understanding with each otlier, and with the 
country round. A gendarme cannot stir without their 
being aware of it. They have their scouts everywhere, 
who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, minp"le in fivp-r-vr 
crowd, and pervade every place of resort. I should not 
be surprised if some one should be supervising us at this 
moment. ' ' 



304 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned 
pale. 

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively 
Neapolitan lawyer. ^ 

**By the way," said he, *'I recollect a little adventure 

of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in 

' this very neighborhood; not far from the ruins of Theo- 

doric's Castle, which are on the top of those great rocky 

heights above the town." 

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure 
ot the doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who, 
being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and 
accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, 
looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full 
career. The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 

ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 

My, friend, the Doctor, was a thorough antiquary; a 
little rusty, musty, old fellow, always groping among 
ruins. He relished a building as you Englishmen relish a 
cheese, — the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the more 
it suited his taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or 
the cracked walls of a. broken-down amphitheatre, would 
throw him into raptures; and he took more delight in 
these crusts aud cheese-parings of antiquity than in the 
best-conditioned modern palaces. 

He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just 
gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his 
brain. He had picked up, for instance, several Roman 
Oonsulars, half a Roman As, two Funics,^ which had 

1 The Consular, the As and the Punic are all early Roman coins. 



AEtVENTURE OF THE LXTTi^E ANTIQUARY 3UD 

doubtless belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal, having 
been found on the very spot where they had encamped 
among the Apennines. He had, moreover, one Samnite,' 
struck after the Social War, and a Philistis,^ a queen that 
never existed; but above all, he valued himself upon a 
coin, indescribable to any but the initiated in these mat 
ters, bearing a cross on one side, and a pegasus on the 
other, and which, by some antiquarian logic, the little 
man adduced as an historical document, illustrating the 
progress of Christianity. 

All these precious coins he carried about with him in a 
leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black 
breeches. 

The last maggot he had taken into his brain was to hunt 
after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi,^ which are said to 
exist to this day among the mountains of the Abruzzi ; 
but about which a singular degree of obscurity prevails.* 

♦Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that 
of the existence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the 
Apennines; and many a wistful eye. is cast by the traveller, 
versed in antiquarian lore, at the richly wooded mountains of 
the Abruzzi, as a forbidden fairy land of research. These spots, 
so beautiful, yet so inaccessible, from the rudeness of their 
inhabitants and the hordes of banditti which infest them, are 
a region of fable to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy virtuoso, 
whose purse and whose consequence could command a military 
escort, has penetrated to some individual point among the 
mountains; and sometimes a wandering artist or student, under 
protection of poverty or insignificance, has brought away some 

1 A Samnite is a coin of Samnium, a neighboring country and enemy of 
Rome. Tlie Social War, in the first century B.C., in which Samnium was 
opposed to Rome, was waged by the various subject states for the purpose 
of obtaining from Rorae the rights and privileges of Rome citizenship. 

■■2 A queen of Syracuse known only from the coins bearing her name and a 
single inscription. 

3 A race of pre-historic times, supposed to have been spread over Greece 
and the neighboring islands. As the race left no written records behind it, 
very little is known concerning its history. 



306 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He had made many discoveries concerning them, and had 
recorded a great many valuable notes and memorandums 
on the subject, in a voluminous book, which he always 
carried about with him ; either for the purpose of frequent 
reference, or through fear lest the precious document 
should fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He 
had, therefore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, 
where he bore about this inestimable tome, banging 
against his rear as he walked. 

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the good 

vague account, only calculated to give a keener edge to curiosity 
and conjecture. 

By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, 
it is affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in 
the Peloponnesus gradually caused the expulsion thence of the 
Pelasgi ; but that their great migration may be dated from the 
finishing the wall around Acropolis, and that at this period they 
came to Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, they would 
ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into the country. It 
is evident, however, that, as barbarians flying before the first 
dawn of civilization, they could bring little with them superior 
to the inventions of the aborigines, and nothing that would 
have survived to the antiquarian through such a lapse of ages. 
It would appear more probable, that these cities, improperly 
termed Pelasgian, were coeval with many that have been dis- 
covered. The romantic /Aricia, built by Hippolytus before the 
siege of Troy, and the poetic Tiber, Osculate and Prseneste, 
built by Telegonus after the dispersion of the Greeks ; — these, 
lying contiguous to inhabited and cultivated spots, have been 
discovered. There are others, too, on the ruins of which the 
later and more civilized Grecian colonists have engrafted them- 
selves, and which have become known by their merits or their 
medals. But that there are many still undiscovered, imbedded 
in the Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians to fancy. 
Strange that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown 
realm of knowledge, should at this day remain in the very centre 
of hackneyed Italy!— [Author's Note.] 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 307 

little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted one 
day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the 
' castle of Theodoric. He was groping about the ruins 
towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his 
wits no doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and 
Eomans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 

He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of 
rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half 
peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in their hands. 
Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt 
into what company he had fallen. 

The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look, and 
poor in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be 
robbed of; but then he had his curious ancient coin in his 
breeches-pocket. He had, moreover, certain other valu- 
ables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with 
figures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of seals 
at the end of a steel chain, dangling half-way down to his 
knees. All these were of precious esteem, being family 
relics. He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique 
intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus, 
which the old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a 
voluptuary. But what he most valued was his inestimable 
collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian cities, which 
he would gladly have given all the money in his pocket to 
have had safe at the bottom of his trunk in Terracina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a 
heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little 
man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a 
''buon giorno."^^ They returned his salutation, giving 
the old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made 
his heart leap into his throat. 

» Good-day. 



308 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

They fell into conversation, and walked for some time 
together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them all 
the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At 
length they came to a small osteria ^ on the mountain, 
where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine 
together; the Doctor consented, though he would as soon 
have been invited to drink hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the 
others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the 
corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto 
out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew 
benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and, 
hailing the Doctor as though he had been a boon compan- 
ion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and 
making merry. 

The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but 
with fear and trembling; sitting uneasily on the edge of 
his chair; eyeing ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and 
cold, naked stilettos; and supping down heartburn with 
every drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed 
the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They sang, 
they laughed ; told excellent stories of their robberies and 
combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes; and the little 
Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut-throat pleas- 
antries, though his heart was dying away at the very bot- 
tom of his bosom. 

By their own account, they were young men from the 
villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out of 
the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their mur- 
derous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements : to 
shoot down a traveller seemed of little more consequence 
to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture 

1 Inn. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY / 309 

of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds; here 
to-day, gone to-morrow; raiiging the forests, climbing the 
rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own wherever 
they could lay hold of it; full purses — merry companions 
— pretty women. The little antiquary got fuddled with 
their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. 
He half forgot his fears, his seal ring, and his fainily 
watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which 
was warming under him, for a time faded from his mem- 
ory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares 
that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this rob- 
ber mania among the mountains; for he felt at the time, 
that, had he been a young man, and a strong man, and 
had there been no danger of the galleys in the back- 
ground, he should have been half tempted himself to turn 
bandit. 

At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor 
was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the 
robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his 
valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He 
endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned; and 
drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, 
far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few 
coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement, and lay- 
ing his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder, *'Harkee! 
Signer Dottore!" said he, *'we have drunk together as 
friends and comrades; let us part as such. We under- 
stand you. We know who and what you are, for we know 
who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts 
foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry 
all your wealth in your head: we cannot get at it, and we 
should not know what to do with it if we could. I see 



310 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

you are uneasy about your ring; but don't worry yourself, 
it is not worth taking; you think it an antique, but it's a 
counterfeit — a mere sham." 

Here the ire of the antiquary arose : the Doctor forgot 
himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven 
and earth! His Venus a ^ham. Had they pronounced 
the wife of his bosom ''no better than she should be," he 
could not have been more indignant. He fired up in vin- 
dication of his intaglio. 

"Nay, nay," continued the robber, *'we have no time 
to dispute about it; value it as you please. Come, you're 
a brave little old signor — one more cup of wine, and we'll 
pay the reckoning. No compliments — you shall not pay a 
grain — you are our guest — I insist upon it. So — now 
make the best of your way back to Terracina ; it's growing 
late. Buon viaggio! And harkee! take care how you 
wander among these mountains, — ^you may not always fall 
into such good company. " 

They shouldered their guns ; sprang gayly up the rocks ; 
and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing 
that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his 
treatise, unmolested; but still indignant that they should 
have pronounced his Venus an impostor. 

The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of impa- 
tience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger 
of being taken out of his hands, which to an able talker is 
always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is an absolute 
calamity: and then for it to be taken away by a Neapoli- 
tan was still more vexatious ; the inhabitants of the differ- 
ent Italian states having an implacable jealousy of each 
other in all things^ great and small. He took advantage 
of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of 
the thread of the conversation. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 311 

**As I observed before," said he, *'the prowlings of the 
banditti are so extensive ; they are so much in league with 
one another, and so interwoven with various ranks of 
society" 

"For that matter," said the Neapolitan, "I have heard 
that your government ^ has had some understanding with 
those gentry; or, at least, has winked at their misdeeds." 

*'My government?" said the Roman, impatiently. 

"Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi"^ — 

"Hush!" said the Roman, holding up his finger, and 
rolling his large eyes about the room. 

"Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored 
in Rome," rephed the Neapolitan, sturdily. "It was 
openly said, that the Cardinal had been up to the moun- 
tains, and had an interview with some of the chiefs. And 
I have been told, moreover, that, while honest people 
have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's ante-cham- 
ber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of those 
stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his way through the 
crowd, and entered without ceremony into the Cardinal's 
presence." 

"I know," observed the improvisatore, "that there 
have been such reports, and it is not impossible that gov- 
ernment may have made use of these men at particular 
periods: such as at the time of your late abortive revolu- 
tion, when your carbonari were so busy with their machi- 
nations all over the country. The information which such 
men could collect, who were familiar, not merely with the 
recesses and secret places of the mountains, but also with 
the dark and dangerous recesses of society; who knew 
every suspicious character, and all his movements and all 

iThe unification of the various states of Italy did not take place 
until 1871. 

a Secretary of State to Pius VIL 



312 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

his lurkings ; in a word, who knew all that was plotting 
in a world of mischief; — ^^he utility of such men as instru- 
ments in the harxds of government was too obvious to be 
overlooked ; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, as a politic statesman, 
may, perhaps, have made use of them. Besides, he knew 
that, with all their atrocities, the robbers were always 
respectful towards the Church, and devout in their reli- 
gion." 

"Keligion! religion!" echoed the Englishman. 

"Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. "They have 
each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and 
say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts, 
they hear the matin or the Ave-Maria bells sounding from 
the valleys; and will often descend from their retreats, 
and run imminent risks to visit some favorite shrine. I 
recollect an instance in point. 

**I was one evening in the village of Frascati, which 
stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising fronj the Cam- 
pagna, just below the Abruzzi Mountains. The people, 
' as is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and vil- 
lages, were recreating themselves in the open air, and 
chatting in groups in the public square. While I was con- 
versing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall fellow, 
wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the square, but 
skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to avoid observa- 
tioui The people drew back as he passed. It was whis- 
pered to me that he was a notorious bandit. " t 

"But why was he not immediately seized?" said the 
Englishman. 

"Because it was nobody's business; because nobody 
wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because 
there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure security 
against the number of desperadoes he might have at hard; 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 313 

because the gendarmes might not have received particular 
instructions with respect to him, and might not feel dis- 
posed to engage in a hazardous conflict without compul- 
sion. In short, I might give you a thousand reasons rising 
out of the state of our government and manners, not one 
of which after all might appear satisfactory." ^ 

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of 
contempt. 

*'I have been told," added the Eoman, rather quickly, 
"that even in your metropolis of London, notorious 
thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets 
at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested 
.unless caught in the very act of robbery." 

The Englishman gave another shrug but whh a different 
expression. 

"Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, thus 
prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. 
I was curious to witness his devotion. You know our 
spacious magnificent churches. The one in which he 
entered was vast, and shrouded in tlie dusk of evening. 
At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers 
feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side 
chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of a 
saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated him- 
self. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders as 
he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength; a sti- 
letto and pistol glittered in his belt; and the light falling 
on his countenance, showed features not unhandsome, but 
strongly and fiercely characterized. As he prayed, he 
became vehemently agitated; his lips quivered ; sighs and 
murmurs, almost groans, burst from him; he beat his 
breast with violence ; then clasped his hands and wrung 
them convulsively, as he extended them towards the image. 



314 ' TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Never had I seen such a terrific picture of remorse. I felt 
fearful of being discovered watching him, and withdrew. 
Shortly afterwards I saw him issue from the church 
wrapped in his mantle. He recrossed the square, and no 
doubt returned to the mountains with a disburdened con- 
science, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime. " 

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the con- 
versation, and had just precluded with the ominous remark, 
*'That puts me in mind of a circumstance," when the 
improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to be again super- 
seded, went on, pretending not to hear the interruption. 

"Among the many circumstances connected with the 
banditti, which serve to render the traveller uneasy and 
insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes have 
with inn-keepers. Many an isolated inn among the lonely 
parts of the Roman territories, and especially about the 
mountains, is of a dangerous and perfidious character. 
They are places where the banditti gather information, 
and where the unwary traveller, remote from hearing or 
assistance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. The rob- 
beries committed at such inns are often accompanied by 
the most atrocious murders ; for it is only by the complete 
extermination of their victims that the assassins can escape 
detection. I recollect an adventure," added he, "which 
occurred at one of these solitary mountain inns, which, as 
you all seem in a mood for robber anecdotes, may not be 
uninteresting." 

Having secured the attention and awakened the curiosity 
of the by-stand ers, he paused for a moment, rolled up his 
large eyes as improvisatori are apt to do when they would 
recollect an impromptu, and then related with great dra- 
matic effect the following story, which had, doubtless, been 
well prepared and digested beforehand. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 315 

THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 

Ifc was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by mules, 

slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the Apennines. 

It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet 

I occurred only at distant intervals, perched on the summit 

I of some rocky height, or the white towers of a convent 

; peeped out from among the thick mountain foliage. The 

carriage was of ancient and ponderous construction. Its 

faded embellishments spoke of former splendor, but its 

' crazy springs and axle-trees creaked out the tale of present 

decline. Within was seated a tall, thin old gentleman, in 

a kind of military travelling-dress, and a foraging-cap 

trimmed with fur, though the gray locks which stole from 

under it hinted that his fighting days were over. . Beside 

him was a pale, beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed in som'e- 

thing of a northern or Polish costume. One servant was 

seated in front, a rusty, crusty looking fellow, with a scar 

across his face, an orange-tawny schnurlart or pair of 

moustaches, bristling from under his nose, and altogether 

the air of an old soldier. ^ 

It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a 
wreck of one of those princely families once of almost 
oriental magnificence, but broken down and impoyerished 
by the disasters of Poland. The Count, like many other 
generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of 
patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his coun- 
try. He had resided for some time in the first cities of 
Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all his 
cares and pleasures were now centred. He had taken her 
into society, where her beauty and her accomplishments 
gained her many admirers; and had she not been the 
daughter of a poor broken-down Polish nobleman, it is 



316 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

more than probable many would have contended for h^ 
hand. Suddenly, however, her health became delicate 
and drooping; her gayety fled with the roses of her 
cheek, and she sank into silence and debility. The old 
Count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. 
**We must try a change of air and scene," said he; and 
in a few days the old family carriage was rumbling among 
the Apennines. 

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had 
been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. 
He had followed his master in all his fortunes; had fought 
by his side; had stood over him when fallen in battle; and 
had received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which added 
such grimness to his countenance. He was now his valet, 
•his steward, his butler, his factotum. The only being 
that rivalled his master in his affections was his youthful 
mistress. She had grown up under his eye, he had led 
her by the hand when she was a child, and he now looked 
upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, he even 
took the freedom of a parent in giving his blnnt opinion 
on all matters which he thought were for her good; and 
felt a parent's vanity at seeing her gazed at and admired. 

The evening was thickening; they had been for some 
time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, 
along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was 
lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the road, 
with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, and 
gazing down upon the travellers. They had between two 
or three leagues yet to go before they could reach any 
village; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling oM fellow, 
who had refreshed himself at the last halting-place with a 
more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talk- 
ing alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 317 

at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent entreaties of the 
Count and maledictions of Caspar. 

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the 
mountains, shrouding their summits from view. The air 
was damp and chilly. The Count's solicitude on his 
daughter's account overcame his usual patience. He 
leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an 
angry tone. 

"Forward!" said he. "It will be midnight before we 
arrive at our inn." 

"Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 

"Where?" demanded the Count. 

"Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile about 
;a quarter of a league distant. 

"That the place? — why, it looks more like a ruin than 
an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night at a 
comfortable village." 

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations and 
ejaculations, such as are ever on the tip of the tongue of a 
delinquent muleteer. "Such roads! and such mountains! 
and then his poor animals were way-worn, and leg-weary; 
they would fall lame; they would never be able to reach 
the village. And then what could his Excellenza wish for 
better than the inn; a perfect castello — a palazzo — and 
such people! — and such a larder! — and such beds! — His 
Excellenza might fare as sumptuously, and sleep as soundly 
there as a prince!" 

The Count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to 
get his daughter out of the night air; so in a little while 
the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gateway 
of the inn. 

The building did certainly in some measure answer to 
the muleteer's description. It was large enough for either 



318 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

castle or palace ; bnilt in a strong, but simple and almost 
rude style ; with a great quantity of waste room. It had 
in fact been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of the 
Italian princes. There was space enough within its walls 
and outbuildings to have accommodated a little army. A 
scanty household seemed now to people this dreary man- 
sion. The faces that presented themselves on the arrival 
of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, and scowling in 
their expression. They all knew old Pietro, however, and 
gave him a welcome as he entered, singing and talking, 
and almost whooping, into the gateway. 

The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the Count 
and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They 
were conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then | 
through a suite of chambers opening into each other, with 
lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across them. 
Everything, however, had a wretched, squalid look. The 
walls were damp and bare, excepting that here and there 
hung some great' painting, large enough for a chapel, and 
blackened out of all distinction. 

They chose two bedrooms, one within another; the 
inner one for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive 
and misshapen; but on examining the beds so vaunted by 
old Pietro, they found them stuffed with fibres of hemp 
knotted in great lumps. The Connt shrugged his shoul- 
ders, but there was no choice left. \i 

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones ;^ 
and they were glad to return to a common chamber or 
kind of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern, 
miscalled a chimney. A quantity of green wood. Just 
thrown on, puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor- 
cesponded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was 
paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the centre, 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 319 

immoYable from its size and weight. The only thing that 
contradicted this prevalent air of indigence was the dress 
of the hostess. She was a slattern of course; yet her 
garments, though dirty and negligent, were of costly 
materials. She wore several rings of great value on her 
fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round her neck was a 
string of large pearls, to which was attached a sparkling 
crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, yet there was 
something in the expression of her countenance that 
inspired the young lady with singular aversion. She was 
oflBcious and oBsequious in her attentions, and both the 
Count and his daughter felt relieved, when she consigned 
them to the care of a dark, sullen-looking servant-maid, 
and went off to superintend the supper. 

Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either 
through negligence or design, subjected his master and 
mistress to such quarters ; and vowed by his moustaches 
to have revenge on the old varlet the moment they were 
safe out from among the mountains. He kept np a con- 
tinual quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only 
served to increase the sinister expression with which she 
regarded the travellers, from under her strong dark eye- 
brows. 

As to the Count, he was a good-humored passive trav- 
eller. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his spirit, 
and rendered him tolerant of many of those petty evils 
which make prosperous men miserable. He drew a large 
broken arm-chair to the fireside for his daughter, and 
another for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of 
tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to produce 
a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by thicker 
puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good gentle- 
man's patience. He would draw back, cast a look upon 



320 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

his delicate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid 
apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would give a 
fresh stir to the fire. 

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there 
is none greater than sulky attendance; the good Count for 
some time bore the smoke in silence, rather than address 
himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length he was 
compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman retired 
muttering. On reentering the room hastily, with an 
armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fell, and striking her 
head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple severely. 

The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled 
profusely. When she recovered, she found the Count's 
daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up 
with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as any 
woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded; but per- 
haps there was something in the appearance of the lovely 
being who bent over her, or in the tones of her voice, that 
touched the heart of the woman, unused to be adminis- 
tered to by such hands. Certain it is, she was strongly 
affected. She caught the delicate hand of the Polonaise, 
and pressed it fervently to her lips. 

"May San Francesco^ watch over you, Signora!'* 
exclaimed she. 

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a 
Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court- 
yard was in an uproar; the house in a bustle. The land- 
lady hurried to attend such distinguished guests ; and the 
poor Count and his daughter, and their supper, were for 
a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered 
Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear; but 
it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority 

' Saint Francis. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 321 

of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility 
of Spain. 

The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter ta 
the window just as the new-comers had alighted, A 
young cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed out 
the Princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old lady, 
with a face of parchment and sparkling black eye; she- 
- was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the assist- 
ance of a golden-headed cane as high as herself. The 
young man was tall and elegantly formed. The Count's 
daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though the 
deep frame of the window screened her from observation. 
She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What 
.that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the 
contrast between the splendid equipage of the Princess, 
and the crazy rheumatic-looking old vehicle of her father, 
which stood hard by. Whatever might be the reason, the 
young lady closed the casement with a sigh. She returned 
to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over her delicate 
frame: she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, 
rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked 
mournfully into the fire. 

The Count thought she appeared paler than usual. 

*'Does anything ail thee, my child?" said he. 

"Nothing, dear father!" replied she, laying her hiand 
within his, and looking up smiling in his face; but as she 
said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and 
she turned away her head. 

'*The air of the window has chilled thee," said the 
Count fondly, **but a good night's rest will make all well 
again." 

The supper-table was at length' laid, and the supper 
about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her 



322 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new- 
comers ; but the night air was cold, and there was no other 
chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely 
made the apology when the Princess entered, leaning on 
the arm of the elegant young man. 

The Count immediately recognized her for a lady whom 
he had met frequently in society, both at Rome and 
Naples ; and at whose conversaziones, in fact, he had been 
constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her nephew 
and heir who had been greatly admired in the gay circles 
both for his merits and prospects, and who had once been 
on a visit at the same time with his daughter and himself 
at the villa of a nobleman near Naples. Report had 
recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. 

The meeting was agreeable to both the Count and the 
Princess. The former was a gentleman of the old school, 
courteous in the extreme; the Princess had been a belle 
in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and liked 
to be attended to. 

The young man approached the daughter, and began 
something of a complimentary observation ; but his man- 
ner was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an 
indistinct murmur; while the daughter bowed without 
looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word, 
and sank again into her chair, where she sat gazing into 
the fire, with a thousand varying expressions passing over 
her countenance. 

This singular greeting of the young people was not per- 
ceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the time with 
their own courteous salutations. It was arranged that 
they should sup together; and as the Princess travelled 
with her own cook, a very tolerable supper soon smoked 
upon the board. This, too, was assisted by choice wines. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 323 

and liquors, and delicate confitures brought from one of 
her carriages; for she was a veteran epicure, and curious 
in her relish for the good things of this world. She was, 
in fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the 
woman of dissipation with the devotee. She was actually 
on her way to Loretto ^ to expiate a long life of gallan- 
tries and peccadilloes by st, rich offering at the holy shrine. 
She was, to be sure, rather a luxurious penitent, and a 
contrast to the primitive pilgrims, with scrip and staff, 
and cockle-shell ; ^ but then it would be unreasonable to 
expect such self-denial from people of fashion ; and there 
was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of the rich cruci 
fixes, and golden vessels, and jewelled ornaments, which 
she was bearing to the treasury of the blessed Virgin. 

The Princess and the Count chatted much during sup- 
per about the scenes and » society in which they had 
mingled, and did not notice that they had all the con- 
versation to themselves : the young people were silent and 
constrained. The daughter ate nothing in spite of the 
politeness of the Princess, who continually pressed her to 
taste of one or other of the delicacies. The Count shook 
his head. 

"She is not well this evening," said he. "I thought 
she would have fainted just now as she was looking out of 
the window at your carriage on its arrival." 

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the 
daughter; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses 
cast a shade over her countenance. 

When supper was over, they drew their chairs about 
the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had subsided, 

1 The shrine of the Virgin at Loretto is stiU a popular place of pilgrim- 
age. The house of the Virgin, Santa Casa,- (cf. p. 367) is reputed to have been 
miraculously conveyed from Palestine to this place in Italy. 

2 The cockle-shell, which is connected with the legendary life of St. James, 
marked the pilgrim to the shrine of St. James at Campostella, in Srain. 



324 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. 
A guitar, which had been brought from the Count's car- 
riage, leaned against the wall ; the Princess perceived it. 
— *'Can we not have a little music before parting for the 
night?" demanded she. 

The Count was proud of his daughter's accomplish- 
ment, and joined in the request. The young man made 
an effort of politeness, and taking up the guitar, pre- 
isente(i it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the fair 
musician. She v^ould have declined it, but was too much 
confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nervous and agi- 
tated, that she dared not trust her voice, to make an 
excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering 
hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself 
in several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he 
sat gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in 
the room, partly through a fondness for the music of his 
native country, but chiefly through his pride in the 
musician. Indeed the melody of the voice, and the 
delicacy of the touch, were enough to have charmed more 
fastidious ears. The little Princess nodded her head and 
tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of 
time; while the nephew sat buried in profound contem- 
plation of a black picture on the opposite wall. 

"And now," said the Count, patting her cheek fondly, 
**one more favor. Let the Princess hear that little Span- 
ish air you were so fond of. You can't think," added 
he, "what a proficiency she has made in your language ; 
though she has been a sad girl, and neglected it of late." 

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She 
hesitated, murmured something; but with sudden effort, 
collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It 
was a Spanish romance, with something of love and 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 325 

melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great 
expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her 
voice went to the heart; but her articulation failed, 
her lips quivered, the song died away, and she burst into 
tears. 

The Count folded her tenderly in his arms. *'Thou 
art not well, my child," said he, "and I am tasking thee 
cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee!" 
She bowed to the company without raising her eyes, and 
glided out of the room. 

The Count shook his head as the. door closed. "Some- 
thing is the matter with that child," said he, ** which I 
cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. 
She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains to 
rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he^ 
"but I have seen much trouble in my family; and this 
poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and she used to be 
so lively" 

"Maybe she's in love!" said the little Princess, with a 
shrewd nod of the head. 

"Impossible!" replied the good Count, artlessly. "She 
has never mentioned a word of such a thing to me. * * 

How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the 
thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns 
which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl 
scarcely breathes unto herself. 

The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly and walked 
about the room. 

When she found herself alone in her chamber, the 
feelings of the young lady, so long restraified, broke forth 
with violence. She opened the casement that the cool an 
might blow upon her throbbing temples. Perhaps there 
was some little pride or pique mingled with her emotions i. 



326 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

though her gentle nature did not seem calculated to har- 
bor any such angry inmate. 

"He saw me weep!" said she, with a sudden mantling 
of the cheek, and a swelling of the throat, — "but no mat- 
ter! — no matter!" 

And so saying, she threw her white arms across the 
window-frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned 
herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a 
reverie, until the sound of her father's and Caspar's voices 
in the adjoining room gave token that th6 party had retired 
for the night. The lights gleaming from window to win- 
dow, showed that they were conducting the Princess to 
her apartments, which were in the opposite wing of the 
inn ; and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew as 
he passed one of the casements. 

She heaved a deep hearfc-drawn sigh, and was about to 
close the lattice, when her attention was caught by 
words spoken below her window by two persons who had 
just turned an angle of the building. 

"But what will become of the poor young lady?" said 
A voice, which she recognized for that of the servant- 
woman. 

"Pooh! she must take her chance," was the reply 
irom old Pietro. 

"But cannot she be spared?" asked the other, entreat- 
ingly; "she's so kind-hearted!" 

"Cospetto!^ what has got into thee?" replied the other, 
petulantly: "would you mar the whole business for the 
sake of a silly girl?" By this time they had got so far 
from the window that the Polonaise could hear nothing 
further. There was something in this fragment of con- 
-versation calculated to alarm. Did it relate to herself? — 

» An English equivalent is "Zounds." 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 327 

and if so, what was this impending danger from which 
it was entreated that she might be spared? She was sev- 
eral times on the point of tapping at her father's door, to 
tell him what she had heard, but she might have been* 
mistaken ; she might have heard indistinctly ; the conver- 
sation might have alluded to some one else ; at any rate, it 
was too indefinite to lead to any conclusion. While in this 
state of irresolution, she was startled by a low knock 
against the wainscot in a remote part of her gloomy 
chamber. On holding up the light, she beheld a small 
door there, which she had not before remarked. It was 
bolted on the inside. She advanced, and demanded wha 
knocked, and was answered in a voice of the female domes- 
tic. On opening the door, the woman stood before it pale 
and agitated. She entered softly, laying her finger on 
her lips as in sign of caution and secrecyo 

*'Fly !" said she: **leave this house instantly, or you are 
lost!" 

The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an 
explanation. 

**I have no time," replied the woman, **I dare not — I 
shall be missed if I linger here — but fly instantly, or you 
are lost. " 

"And leave my father?" 

**Whereishe?" 

"In the adjoining chamber." 

"Call him, then, but lose no time.*' 

The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was 
not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and 
told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The 
Count returned with her into the chamber, followed by 
Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the 
embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset by 



328 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, 
when the attendants of the Princess and the rest of the 
travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey. 

"But we can barricade the inn, we can defend our- 
selves," said the Count, 

**What! when the people of the inn are in league with 
the banditti?" 

** How then are we to escape? Can we not order out 
the carriage and depart?" 

*'San Francesco! for what? to give the 'alarm that the 
plot is discovered? That would make the robbers des- 
perate, and bring them on you at once. They have had 
notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let 
it escape them." 

"But how else are we to get off?" 

"There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, 
"from which the man has just dismounted who has been 
to summon the aid of part of the band at a distance." 

* ' One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said the Count. 

"And the Spanish Princess!" cried the daughter, anx- 
iously. "How can she be extricated from the danger?" 

"Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman, in sud- 
den passion. "It is you I come to save, and you will 
betray me, and we shall all be lost! Hark!" continued 
she, "I am called^I shall be discovered — one word more. 
This door leads by a staircase to the courtyard. Under 
the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small door leading 
out to the fields. You will find a horse there ; mount it ; 
make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of rocks that 
you will see; proceed cautiously and quietly until you 
cross a brook, and find yourself on the road Just where 
there are three white crosses nailed against a tree; then 
put your horse to his speed, and make the best of your 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 329 

way. to the village — but recollect, my life is in youT hands 
—say nothing of what you have heard or seen, whatever 
may happen at this inn." 

The woman hurried away. A short and agitated con- 
sultation took place between the Count, his daughter, 
and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to have 
lost all apprehension for herself in her solicitude for the 
safety of the Princess. *'To fly in selfish silence, and 
leave her to be massacred!" — A shuddering seized her at 
the very thought. The gallantry of the Count, too, 
revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn his 
back upon a party of helpless travellers, and leave them 
in ignorance of the danger which hung over them. 

"But what is to become of the young lady," said Cas- 
par, "if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a 
tumult? What may happen to her in a chance-medley 
affray?" 

Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; he looked 
upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the chance 
of her falling into the hands of ruffianSo 

The daughter, however," thought nothing of herself. 
**The Princess! the Princess! — only let the Princess know 
her dangero" She was willing to share it with her. 

At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful 
old servant. No time was to be lost — the first thing was 
to get the young lady out of danger, "Mount the 
horse," said he to the Count, "take her behind you, and 
fly! Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and send 
assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to the Prin- 
cess and her people^ I am an old soldier, and I think we 
shall be able to stand siege until you send' us aid." 

The daughter would again have insisted on staying with 
the Princess-" 



330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

**Por whjat?" said old Caspar, bluntly. "You could do 
ho good — ^you would be in the way; — we should have to 
take care of you instead of ourselves." 
• There was no answering these objections; the Count 
seized his pistols, and taking his daughter under his arm, 
moved towards the staircase. The young lady paused, 
stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation — *' There 
is a young cavalier with the Princess — her nephew — ^per- 
haps he may" — 

**I understand you. Mademoiselle," replied old Caspar, 
with a significant nod; "not a haJr of, his head sh^U suffer 
harm if I can help it. ' ' 

The young lady blushed deeper than ever ; she had not 
anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt 
old servant. 

"That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She 
would have added something, or made some explanation, 
but the moments were precious and her father hurried her 
away. 

They found their way through the courtyard to the 
small postern gate where the horse stood, fastened to a 
ring in the wall. The Count mounted, took his daughter 
behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in 
the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many a 
fearful and anxious look did the daughter cast back upon 
the gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly twinkled 
through the dusky casements were one by one disappear- 
ing, a sign that the inmates were gradually sinking to 
repose; and she trembled with impatience, lest succor 
should not arrive until that repose had been fatally inter- 
rupted. 

They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the 
rocks, prrtected from observation by their overhanging 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 331 

shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place 
where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of 
some murder that had been committed there. Just as 
they had reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several 
men in the gloom coming down a craggy defile among the 
rocks. 

**Who goes there?" exclaimed a voice. The Count put 
spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward and 
seized the bridle. The horse started back, and reared j 
and had not the young lady clung \o her father, she^ 
would have been thrown off. The Count leaned forward, 
put a pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and fired. 
The latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward. Two or 
three shots were fired which whistled by the fugitives, but 
only served to augment their speed. They reached the 
village in safety. 

The whole place was soon roused; but such was the awe 
In which the banditti were held, that the inhabitants 
shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate 
band had for some time infested that pass through the 
mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being 
one of those horrible places where the unsuspicious way-/ 
farer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The rich 
ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had 
excited hea^y suspicions. Several instances had occurred 
of small parties of travellers disappearing mysteriously on 
that road, who, it was supposed at first, had been carried 
off by the robbers for the purpose of ransom, but who had 
never been heard of more. Such were the tales buzzed in 
the ears of the Count by the villagers, as he endeavored 
to rouse them to the rescue of the Princess and her train 
from their perilous situation. The daughter seconded the 
exertions of her father with all the eloquence of prayers, 



332 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed 
increased her anxiety until it became agonizing. For- 
tunately there was a body of gendarmes resting at the vil- 
lage. A number of the young villagers volunteered to 
accompany them, and the little army was put in motion. 
The Count having deposited his daughter in a place of 
safety, was too much of the old soldier not to hasten to 
the scene of danger. It would be difficult to paint the 
anxious agitation of the young lady while awaiting the 
result. 

The party arrived at tlie inn just in time. The rob- 
bers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers 
prepared for their reception, had become open and furious 
in their attack. The Princess's party had barricaded 
themselves in one suite of apartments, and repulsed the 
robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown 
the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of the Prin- 
cess the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their ammu- 
nition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they would 
have found it difficult to hold oat mucb longer, when a 
discharge from the musketry of the gendarmes gave them 
the joyful tidings of succor. 

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were sur- 
prised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn; 
while their comrades made desperate attempts to relieve 
them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and 
thickets. 

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, 
as I have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice it 
to say, the robbers were defeated ; several of them killed, 
and several taken prisoners; which last, together with the 
people of the inn, were either executed or sent to the 
galleys. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 333 

I picked up these particulars in tlie course of a journey 
which I made some time after the event had taken place. 
I passed "by the very inn. It was then dismantled, except- 
ing one wing, in which a body of gendarmes was stationed. 
They pointed out to me the shot-holes in the window- 
frames, the walls, and the panels of the. doors. There 
were a number of withered limbs dangling from thf 
branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening in the air, 
which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had 
been slain, and the culprits who had been executed. The 
whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 

**Were any of the Princess's party killed?" inquired tht 
Englishman. 

*'As far as I can recollect, there were two or three.'* 

"Not the nephew, I trust?" said the fair Venetian. 

**0h no: he hastened with the Count to relieve th& 
anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. The 
young lady had been sustained through the interval of 
suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The 
moment she saw her father returning in safety, accom- 
panied by the nephew of the Princess, she uttered a cry 
of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon 
recovered, and what is more, was married shortly after- 
wards to the young cavalier; and the whole party accom- 
panied the old Princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, 
where her votive offerings may still be seen in the treasury 
of the Santa Casa." 

It would be tedious to follow the devious course of the 
conversation as it wound through a maze of stories of the 
kind, until it was taken up by two other travellers who 
had come under the convoy of the procaccio : Mr. Hobbs 
and Mr, Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer, just 



334 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

returning from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land 
They were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. They 
were astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a 
man of his importance on 'Change, he being an eminent 
dry-salter of Throgmorton Street, and a magistrate to boot. 
In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too 
true. It was attested by too many present to be for a 
moment doubted; and from the contradictory and con- 
cordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it, 
and all talking at the same time, the Englishman was 
enabled to gather the following particulars. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 

« 

It was but a few davs before, that the carriage of Alder- 
man Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. 
Ttose who have seen an English family-carriage on the 
Continent must have remarked the sensation it produces. 
It is an epitome of England ; a little morsel of the old 
Island rolling about the world. Everything about it com- 
pact, snug, finished, and fitting. The wheels turning on 
patent axles without ratthng ; the body, hanging so well 
on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting 
from every shock ; the ruddy faces gaping from the win- 
dows, — sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a 
voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden 
just from boarding-school. And then the dickeys loaded 
with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff; looking 
down from their heights with contempt on all the world 
around ; profoundly ignorant of the country and the peo- 
ple, and devoutly certain that everything not English must 
be wrong. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS P ^ MILY 335 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made 
its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had pre- 
ceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had 
given a magnificent account of the richness and greatness 
of his master; blundering with an Italian's splendor of 
imagination about the Alderman's titles and dignities. 
The host had added his usual share of exaggeration; so 
that by the time the Alderman drove up to the door, he 
was a Milor — Magnifico — Principe — the Lord knows what! 

The Alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi 
and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life 
was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway: 
he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he 
would made a national affair of it. The Principessa Pop- 
kins,-a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in 
the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in 
the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine bouncing 
girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons 
in boxing; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no 
scaramouch of an Italian robber would dare meddle with 
an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, 
and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian 
grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places 
without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were 
very romantic,* and had learnt to draw in water-colors, 
were enchanted with the savage scenery around ; it was so 
like what they had read in Mrs. Eadcliffe *s romances ; they 
should like, of all things, to make sketchesSo At length 
the carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up a 
long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep; the young 

> Define the term as used here. Mrs. Radcliffe's Mystirlea of Udolpho 
appeared in 1794; her various other romances appeared iip to the time of 
her death in 1823. 



336 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ladies were lost in the "Loves of the Angels";^ and the 
dandy was hectoring the postilions from the coach-box. 
The Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up 
the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him 
every now and then to stop and blow and wipe his fore- 
head, with many a pish! and phew! being rather pursy 
and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far 
behind him, and moved slowly under the weight of so 
many well-stuffed trunks, and well-stuffed travellers, he 
had plenty of time to walk at leisure. 

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, 
nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the road 
began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who 
appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins was 
one of your shrewd travellers who always like to be pick- 
ing up small information along the road; so he thought 
he'd just scramble up to the honest man, and have a little 
talk with him by way of learning the news and getting a 
lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant, he did 
not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the 
rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his 
slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a 
keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce moustache to 
be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog, which 
was roving about the side of the hill. As the Alderman 
approached, he arose and greeted him. When standing 
erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of 
Alderman Popkins, who, however, being 'a short man, 
might be deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in the car- 
riage, or even on 'Change in London; for he was by no 

1 A sly hit at Irving's friend Thomas Moore, who was the author of this 
poem. The poem appeared just at the time Irving was writing the stories 
of the Tales of a Traveller. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 337 

means well pleased with his company. However, he 
determined to put the best face on matters, and was 
beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, 
the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in that 
part of the country, when he heard a violent screaming. 
He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, beheld 
his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the 
fat footman, another had the dandy by his starched cra- 
vat, with a pistol to his head; one was rummaging a port- 
manteau, another rummaging the Principessa's pockets; 
while the two Misses Popkins were screaming from each 
window of the carriage, and their waiting-maid squalling 
from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the 
magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and 
was on the point of scrambling down the rocks either to 
assault the robbers or to read the riot act, when he was 
suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend the 
goatherd, whose cloak falling open, discovered a belt 
stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found 
himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who 
had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travel- 
lers and to give notice to his men. 

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned 
inside out, and all the finery.and frippery of the Popkins 
family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice 
beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the 
young ladies, mingled with tlje Alderman's nightcaps and 
!ambs'-wool stockings and the dandy's hair-brushes, stays, 
and starched cravats. 

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and theii 
watches, the ladies of their Jewels; and the whole party 
were on the point of being carried up into the mountain, 



338 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

when fortunately the appearance of soldiers at a distance 
obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had 
secured, and leave the Popkins family to gather together 
the remnants of their effects, and make the best of their 
way to Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the Alderman made a terrible blus- 
tering at the inn ; threatened to complain to the ambassa- 
dor at Napl^, and was ready to shake his cane at the 
whole country. The dandy had many stories to tell of 
his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered him 
merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they were 
quite delighted with the adventure, and were occupied the 
whole evening in writing it in their journals. They 
declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic- 
looking man, they dared to say some unfortunate lover or 
exiled nobleman ; and several of the band to be very hand- 
some young men — ' ' quite picturesque ! " 

''In verity," said mine host of Terracina, ''they say 
the captain of the band is un galant uomo. ' ' 

"A gallant man!" said the Englishman, indignantly. 

" I 'd have your gallant man hanged like a dog ! ' ' 

"To dare to meddle mth Englishmen!" said Mr. 
Hobbs. 

' ' And such a f aniily as the Popkinses ! ' ' said Mr. 
Dobbs. 

' ' They ought to come upon the country for damages ! ' ' 
said Mr. Hobbs. 

' ' Our ambassador should make a complaint to the gov- 
ernment of Naples, ' ' said Mr. Dobbs. 

' ' They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of 
the country, ' ' said Hobbs. 

"And if they did not, we should declare war against 
them," said Dobbs. 

"Pish! — ^humbug!" muttered the Englishman to him- 
self, and walked away. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 339 

The Englishman had been a little wearied by this story, 
and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad 
when a summons to their supper relieved him from the 
crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Venetian 
friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting 
demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the 
course of the conversation. They directed {heir steps 
towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. 

As they strolled along the beach they came to where a 
party of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were 
guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted to 
refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and sport and 
roll upon the sand. 

The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of 
wretches at their sports. **It is difficult," said he, **to 
conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here col- 
lected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such 
as you have heard described. Such is, too often, the 
career of crime in this country. The parricide, the frat- 
ricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first 
flies from justice and turns mountain bandit; and then, 
when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his 
brother desperadoes; betrays them to punishment, and 
thus buys a commutation of his own sentence from death 
to the galleys; happy in the privilege of wallowing on the 
shore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal enjoy- 
ment. ' ' 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the 
horde of wretches at their evening amusement. *'They 
seemed," she said, "like so many serpents writhing 
together." And yet the idea that some of them had been 
robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her imag- 
ination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as we 



340 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

4 

contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a degree of 
awe and horror, even though caged and chained. 

The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti which 
they had heard at the inn. The Englishman condemned 
some of them as fabrications, others as exaggerationSo As 
to the story of the improvisatore, he pronounced it a mere 
piece of romance, originating in the heated brain of the 
narrator. 

"And yet," said the Frenchman, "there is so much 
romance about the real life of those beings, and about the 
singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell what to 
reject on the ground of improbabilityo I have had an 
adventure happen to myself which gave me an opportunity 
of getting some insight into their manners and habits, 
which I found altogether out of the common run of exist- 
ence." 

There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty 
about the Frenchman which had gained the good will of 
the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. 
They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the 
circumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly 
up and down the sea-shore, he related the following adven- 
ture. 

THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 

I am an historical painter by profession, and resided for 
some time in the family of a foreign Prince at his villa, 
about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most 
interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights 
of ancient Tusculum. In its neighborhood are the ruins 
of the villas of Cicero, Sylla, Lucullus, Rufinus, and other 
illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 341 

from their toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious 
repose. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed 
by the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over a roman- 
tic landscape full of poetical and historical associations. 
The Albanian Mountains; Tivoli, once the favorite resi- 
dence of Horace and Maecenas; the vast, deserted, melan- 
choly Campagna, with the Tiber winding through it, and 
St. Peter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument, as 
it were, over the grave of ancient Rome. 

I assisted the Prince in researches which he was making 
among the classic ruins of his vicinity: his exertions 
were highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable statues 
and fragments of exquisite sculpture were dug up; monu- 
ments of the taste and magnificence that reigned in the 
ancient Tusculan abodes. He had studded his villa and 
its grounds with statues, relievos, vases, and sarcophagi, 
thus retrieved from the bosom of the earth. 

The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully 
serene, diversified by interesting occupations and elegant 
leisure. Every one passed the day according to his pleas- 
ure or pursuits; and we all assembled in a cheerful din- 
ner-party at sunset. 

It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene 
day, that we had assembled in the saloon ak the sound of 
the first dinner-bell. The family were surprised at the 
absence of the Prince's confessor. They waited for him 
in vain, and at length placed themselves at table. They 
at first attributed his absence to his having prolonged his 
customary walk ; and the early part of the dinner passed 
without any uneasiness. When the dessert was served, 
however, without his making his appearance, they began 
to feel anxious. They feared he might have been taken ill 
in some alley of the woods, or might have fallen into the 



342 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

hands of robbers. Not far from the villa, with the inter- 
val of a small valley, rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, 
the strong-hold of bandittic Indeed, the neighborhood 
had for some time past been infested by them ; and Bar- 
bone, a notorious bandit chief, had often been met prowling 
about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring enterprises 
of these ruffians were well known: the objects of their 
cupidity or vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As 
yet they had respected the possessions of the Prince ; but 
the idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about the 
neighborhood was sufficient to occasion alarm. 

The fears of the company increased as evening closed 
in. The Prince ordered out forest guards and domestics 
with flambeaux to search for the confessoro They had not 
departed long when a slight noise was heard in the corri- 
dor of the ground-floor. The family were dining on the 
first floor, and the remaining domestics were occupied in 
attendance. There was no one on the ground-floor at 
this moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and 
three field-laborers, who were resting themselves, and 
conversing with the women. 

I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be 
occasioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table 
and hastened down-stairs, eager to gain intelligence that 
might relieve the anxiety of the Prince and Princess. I 
had scarcely reached the last step, when I beheld before 
me a man dressed as a bandit; a carbine in his hand, and 
a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His countenance had a 
mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation : he sprang 
upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, *'Ecco il principe!" 

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeav-. 
ored to summon up coolness and presence of mind. A 
glance towards the lower end of the corridor showed me 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 343 

several rufiBans, clothed and armed in the same manner 
with the one who had seized me. They were guarding the 
two females and the field-lahorers. The robber, who held 
me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether or 
not I were the Prince: his object evidently was to carry 
off the Prince, and extort an immense ransom. He was 
enraged at receiving none but vague replies, for I felt the 
importance of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate 
myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but 
I was vigorous. His companions were at a distance. By 
a sudden exertion I might wrest myself from him, and 
spring up the staircase, whither he would not dare to fol- 
low me singly. The idea was put into practice as soon as 
conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare ; with my right 
hand I seized him by it, with my left hand I grasped the 
arm which held the carbine. The suddenness of my 
attack took him completely unawares, and the strangling 
nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He choked and 
faltered. I felt his hand relaxing its hold, and was on 
the point of jerking myself away, and darting up the stair- 
case, before he could recover himself, when I was suddenly 
seized bv some one from behind. 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once released, 
fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with 
the butt end of his carbine, one of which wounded me 
severely in the forehead and covered me with blood. He 
took advantage of my being stunned to rifle me of my 
watch, and whatever valuables I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effect of the blow, I heard 
the voice of the chief of the banditti, who exclaimed — 
** Quelle e il principe; siamo content e; andiamo!" (It is 
the Prince; enough; let us be off.) The band immS' 



344 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

diately closed around me and dragged me out of the paV 
ace, bearing o£E the three laborers likewise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my wound ; 
I managed to stanch it, however, with my pocket-hand- 
kerchief, which I bound round my forehead. The captain 
of the band conducted me in triumph, supposing me to 
be the Prince. We had gone some distance before he 
learnt his mistake from one of the laborers. His rage was 
terrible. It was too late to return to the villa and 
endeavor to retrieve his error, for by this time the alarm 
must have been given, and every one in arms. He darted 
at me a ferocious look,^ — swore I had deceived him, and 
caused him to miss his fortune,— and told me to prepare 
for death. The rest of the robbers were equally furious, 
I saw their hands upon their poniards, and I knew that 
death was seldom an empty threat with these ruffianSc 
The laborers saw the peril into which their information 
had betrayed me, and eagerly assured the captain that I 
was a man for whom the Prince would pay a great ransom» 
This produced a pause. Por my part, I cannot say that I 
had been much dismayed by their menaces. I mean not 
to make any boast of courage ; but I have been so schooled 
to hardship during the late revolutions, and have beheld 
death around me in so many perilous and disastrous sceneSj 
that I have become in some measure callous to its terrors. 
The frequent hazard of life makes a man at length as 
reckless of it as a gambler of his money. To their threat 
of death, I replied, **that the sooner it was executed the 
better.'^ This reply seemed to astonish the captain; and 
the prospect of ransom held out by the laborers had, no 
doubt, a still greater effect on him. He considered for a 
moment, assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign to 
his companions, who had remained waiting for my death- 



THE PAINTER S ADVENTURE 345 

warrant, **rorward!'* said he; * 'we will see about this 
matter by and by!" 

We descended rapidly towards the road of La Molara, 
which leads to Rocca Priore. In the midst of this road 
is a solitary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt 
at the distance of a pistol-shot from it, and enjoined pro- 
found silence. He approached the threshold alone, with 
noiseless steps. He examined the outside of the door 
very narrowly, and then returning precipitately, made a 
sign for the troop to continue its march in silence. It 
has since been ascertained, that this was one of those 
infamous inns which are the secret resorts of banditti. 
The innkeeper had an understanding with the captain, as 
he most probably had with the chiefs of the different 
bands. Wb n any of the patroles and gendarmes were 
quartered at his house, the brigands were warned of it by 
a preconcerted signal on the door; when there was no 
such signal, they might enter with safety, and be sure of 
welcome. 

After pursuing our road a little further, we struck off 
towards the woody mountains which envelop Rocca Priore 

Our march was long and painful ; with many circuits 
and windings; at length we clambered a steep ascent, 
covered with a thick forest ; and when we had reached the 
centre, I was told to seat myself on the ground. No 
sooner had I done so, than, at a sign from their chief, the 
robbers surrounded me, and spreading their great cloaks 
from one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of man- 
tles, to which their bodies might be said to serve as col- 
umns. The captain then struck a light, and a flambeau 
was lit immediately. The mantles were extended to pre- 
vent the light of the flambeau from being seen through the 
forest. Anxious as was mv situation, I could not look 



346 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

round upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the 
bright colors of the robbers' garments, the gleaming of 
their weapons, and the variety of strong marked counten- 
ances, lit up by the flambeau, without admiring the pic- 
turesque effect of the scene. It was quite theatrical. 

The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen 
and paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate, 
I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in the style of rob- 
ber eloquence, **that the Prince should send three thou- 
sand dollars for my ransom ; or that my death should be 
the consequence of a refusal." 

I knew enough of the desperate character of these 
beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their 
only mode of insuring attention to their demands is to 
make the infliction of the penalty inevitablCo I saw at 
once, however, that the demand was preposterous, and 
made in improper language. 

I told the captain so, and assured him that so extrava- 
gant a sum would never be granted. — **That I was neither 
a friend nor relative of the Prince, but a mere artist, 
employed to execute certain paintings. That I had noth- 
ing to offer as a ransom, but the price of my labors ; if 
this were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it 
was a thing on which I set but little value." 

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw 
that coolness and hardihood had an effect upon the rob- 
bers. It is true, as I finished speaking, the captain laid 
his hand upon his stiletto ; but he restrained himself, and 
snatching the letter, folded it, and ordered me, in a per- 
emptory tone, to address it to the Prince. He then dis- 
patched one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who 
promised to return with all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and 1 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 347 

was told that I might do the same. They spread theit 
great cloaks on the ground, and lay down around me. 
One was stationed at a little distance to keep watch, and 
was relieved every two hours. The strangeness and wild- 
ness of this mountain bivouac among lawless beings, whose 
hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and with 
whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough to ban- 
ish repose. The coldness of the earth, and of the dew, 
however, had a still greater effect than mental causes in 
disturbing my rest. The airs wafted to these mountains 
from the distant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness 
as the night advanced. An expedient suggested itself. 
I called one of my fellow-prisoners, the laborers, and 
made him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my 
limbs became chilled, I approached it to the robust limb 
of my neighbor, and borrowed some of his warmth. In 
this way I was able to obtain a little sleep. 

Day at length dawned, and I w^s roused from my slum- 
ber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise 
and follow him. I obeyed. On considering his physiog- 
nomy attentively, it appeared a little softened. He even 
assisted me in scrambling up the steep forest, among rocks 
and brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous moun- 
taineer; but I found it excessively toilsome to climb these 
rugged heights. We arrived at length at the summit of 
the mountain. 

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art sud- 
denly awakened; aud I forgot in an instant all my perils 
and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the 
midst of the mountains of the Abruzzi. It was on these 
heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed 
out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a vast 
extent of country. The minor height of Tusculum, with 



348 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

its villas and its sacred ruins, lie below; the Sabine Hill 
and the Albanian Mountains stretch on either hand; and 
beyond Tu senium and Frascati spreads out the immense 
Campagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there a 
broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the towers and 
domes of the eternal city in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, 
and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from among 
the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the sav- 
age foreground, made still more savage by groups of ban- 
ditti, armed and dressed in their wild picturesque manner, 
and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter 
for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. 

Th« banditti were astonished at my admiration of a 
scene which familiarity had made so common in their 
eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this spot, drew 
forth a quire of drawing-paper, and began to sketch the 
features of the landscape. The height on which I was 
seated was wild and solitary, separated from the ridge of 
Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the 
distance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. 
This height was one of the favorite retreats of the ban- 
ditti, commanding a look-out over the country; while at 
th6 same time it was covered with forests, and distant 
from the populous haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called off for 
a moment by the cries of birds, and the bleatings of sheep. 
I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals 
which uttered them. They were repeated, and appeared 
to come from the summits of the trees. On looking more 
narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched in the 
tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the moun- 
tain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect„ They 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 341> 

were keeping a look-out like so many vultures ; castinjc. 
their eyes into the depths of the valley below us com- 
municating with each other by signs, or holding dis- 
course in sounds which might be mistaken by the wayfarer 
for the cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the 
mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred the neigh- 
borhood, and finished their singular discourse, they 
descended from their airy perch, and returned to their 
prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three 
naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard 
us with what appeared his most trusty companion^ 

I had my book of sketches in my hand; he requested to 
see it, and after having run his eye over it, expressed him- 
self convinced of the truth of my assertion that I was a 
painter„ I thought I saw a gleam of good feeling dawn- 
ing in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I knew 
that the worst of men have their good points and their 
accessible sides, if one would but study them carefully. 
Indeed, there is a singular mixture in the character of 
the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity he often min- 
gles traits o| kindness and good-humor. He is not always 
radically bad; but driven to his course of life by some 
unpremeditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts 
of passion to which the Italian temperament is prone. 
This has compelled him to take to the mountains, or, as 
it is technically termed among them, *'andare in cam- 
pagna." He has become a robber by profession; but, like 
a Soldier, when not in action he can lay aside his weapon 
and his fierceness, and become like other men. 

I took occasion, from the observations of the captain on 
my sketchings, to fall into conversation with him, and 
found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I 
oecame completely at my ease with him. I had fancied 



350 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

1 perceived about him a degree of self-love, which. I deter- 
mined to make use of. I assumed an air of careless frank- 
ness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended to the 
power of judging of the physiognomy; that I thoaght I 
perceived something in his features and demeanor which 
announced him worthy of higher fortunes; that he was 
not formed to exercise the profession to which he had 
abandoned himself; that he had talents and qualities fitted 
for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change 
his course of life, and, in a legitimate career, the same 
courage and endowments which now made him an object 
of terror, would assure him the applause and admiration 
of society. 

I had not mistaken my man; my discourse both touched 
and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and 
replied with strong emotion, "You have guessed the 
truth; you have judged of me rightly.'* He remained for 
a moment silent ; then, with a kind of effort, he resumed, 
— "I will tell you some particulars of my life,* and you 
will perceive that it was the oppression of others, rather 
than my own crimes, which drove me to the mountains. 
I sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have perse- 
cuted me from among them." We seated ourselves on 
the grass, and the robber gave me the following anecdotes 
of his history. 



THE STOEY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 

I am a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was 
easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably 

»Is the transition skillfully made? Note that in this group, as In the 
first group or stories in the volume, there is a defixiite growth in seriousness 
*rom the lirst tale on. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTa IN 351 

and independently, cultivating our fields. All went ou 
well with us, until a new chief of the Sbirri ^ was sent to 
our village to take the command of the police. He was 
an arbitrary fellow, prying into everything, and practising 
all sorts of vexations and oppressions in the discharge of 
his office. 1 was at that time eighteen years of age, and 
had a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. 1 
had also a little education, and knew something of his- 
tory, so as to be able to judge a little of men and their 
actions. All this inspired me with hatred for this paltry 
despot. My own family, also, became the object of his 
suspicion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary 
abuse of his power. These things worked together in my 
mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My character was 
always ardent and energetic, and, acted upon by the love 
of justice, determined me, by one blow, to rid the country 
of the tyrant. 

Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of 
day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat,- — ^here 
you see it ! — (and he drew forth a long, keen poniard,) I 
lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I knew 
all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and 
prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the morning. 
At length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He 
was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of 
youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure 
work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned 
with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to meet 
two of the Sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me, and 
asked if 1 had seen their chief. I assumed an air of tran- 
quillity, and told them I had not. They continued on 

I Constables. 



355;! TALES OF A TRAVELLJbiK 

their way, and within a few hours brought, back the dead 
body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me being already 
awakened, I was arrested and thrown into prison. Here 
I lay several weeks, when the Prince, who was Seigneur of 
Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. 1 
was brought to trial, and a witness was produced, who 
pretended to have seen me flying with precipitation not 
far from the bleeding body ; and so I was condemned to 
the galleys for thirty years. 

"Curse on such laws!" vociferated the bandit, foaming 
with rage: ** Curse on such a government! and ten thou- 
sand curses on the Prince who caused me to be adjudged 
so rigorously, while so many other Eoman Princes harbor 
and protect assassins a thousand times more culpable 1 
What had I done but what was inspii'^d by a love of jus- 
tice and my country? Why was my act more culpable 
than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar to thy 
cause of liberty and justice?" 

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous 
in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating him- 
self with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, 
however, that he had at least the merit of knowing the 
remarkable facts in the history of his country. Ho became 
more calm, and resumed his narrative. 

**I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My 
heart was burning with rage. I had been married scarce 
six months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and 
who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long 
time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At 
length I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, 
and endeavored, with a pointed flint, to fashion it into a 
kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the 
night time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 353 

long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My 
flight was successful. 

"I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which 
surround Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of 
the place where I was concealed. She came often to see 
me. I had determined to put myself at the head of an 
armed band. She endeavored, for a long time, to dis- 
suade me, but finding my resolution fixed, she at length 
united in my project of vengeance, and brought me, her- 
self, my poniard. By her means I communicated with 
several brave fellows of the neighboring villages, whom I 
knew to be ready to take to the mountains, and only pant- 
ing for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. 
We soon formed a combination, procured arms, and we 
have had ample opportunities of revenging c^urselves for 
the \vrongs and injuries which most of us have suffered. 
Everything has succeeded with us until now; and had it 
not been for our blunder in mistaking you for the Prince, 
our fortunes would have been made." 

Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked 
himself into complete companionship, and assured me he 
no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I 
had been the innocent cause. He even f)rofessed a kind- 
ness for me, and wished me to remain some time with 
them. He promised to give me a sight of certain grottos 
which they occupied beyond Velletri, and whither they 
resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. 

He assured me that they led a jovial life there; had" 
plenty of good cheer ; slept on beds of moss; and were 
waited upon by young and beautiful females, whom 1 
might take for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions 
of the grottos and their inhabitants : they realized those 



354 TAi^ES OF A TRAVELLER 

scenes in robber story which I had always looked upon ae 
mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly have accep- 
ted his invitation, and paid a visit to these caverns, could 
J have felt more secure in my company. 

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evi- 
dently propitiated the good-will of the chieftain, and 
hoped that he might release me for a moderate ransom. 
A new alarm, however, awaited me. While the captain 
was looking out with impatience for the return of the 
messenger, who had been sent to the Prince, the sentinel 
posted on the side of the mountain facing the plain of La 
Molara came running towards us. "We are betrayed!" 
-exclaimed he. *'The polipe of Frascati are after us» A 
party of carabineers have just stopped at the inn below the 
mountain." Then, laying his hand on his stiletto, he 
swore, with a terrible oath, that if they made the least 
miovement towards the mountain, my life and the lives of 
my fellow-prisoners should answer for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and 
approved of what his companion said; but when the latter 
had returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened 
air: "I must act as chief," said he, **and humor my 
dangerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our 
prisoners rather than suffer them to be rescued ; but do 
not be alarmed. In case we are surprised, keep by me; 
fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for your 
life." 

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, 
which would have placed me between two dangers. I 
scarcely knew, in case of flight, from which I should have 
the most to apprehend, the carbines of the pursuers, or 
the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, 
and endeavored to maintain a look of tranquillity. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 355 

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. 
The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept 
an eagle watch upon the carabineers below, as they loitered 
about the inn; sometimes lolling about the portal; some- 
times disappearing for several minutes ; then sallying out, 
examining their weapons, pointing in different directions,, 
and apparently asking questions about the neighborhood. 
Not a movement, a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes 
of the brigands. At length we were relieved from our 
apprehensions. The carabineers having finished their 
refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley 
towards the great road, and gradually left the mountain 
behind them. *'I felt almost certain," said the chief, 
**that they could not be sent after us. They know too 
well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar 
occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and 
are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from 
them, there would no longer be such a thing as a ransom 
to be procured." 

There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I 
was preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain 
drew a quire of paper from his knapsack. "Come," said 
he, laughing, **you are a painter, — take my likeness. The 
leaves of your portfolio are small, — draw it on this." I 
gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents 
itself to a painter. I recollected that Salvator Eosa ^ in 
his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the 
banditti of Calabria, and had filled his mind with the 
savage scenery and savage associates by which he was sur- 
rounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the 
, thought. I found the captain the most docile of subjects. 



1 An early Italian painter. Note the comment on p. 101. 



356 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and, after various shiftings of position, placed him in an 
attitude to my mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in fanciful 
bandit costume; with pistols and poniard in belt; his 
brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief loosely thrown around 
it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all 
kinds, the spoils of travellers; relics and medals hanging 
on his breast; his hat decorated with various colored rib- 
bons ; his vest and short breeches of bright colors, and 
finely embroidered , his legs in buskins or leggins. Fancy 
him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged 
oaks, leaning on his carbine, as if meditating some 
exploit; while far below are beheld villages and villas, the 
scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Oampagna dimly 
extending in the distance.^ 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to 
admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished, 
when the laborer arrived who had been sent for my ran- 
som. He had reached Tusculum two hours after mid- 
nighto He had brought me a letter from the Prince, who 
was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, 
he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five 
hundred dollars for my ransom. Having no money by 
him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, 
payable to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound 
to Rome, I presented the note of hand to the chieftain ; 
he received it with a shrug. "Of what use are notes of 
hand to us?" said he. "Who can we send with you to 
Kome to receive it? We are all marked men ; known and 
described at every gate, and military post, and village 
church-door. No; we must have gold and silver; let the 
sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to liberty," 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 357 

communicate his determination to the Prince. When I 
had finished the letter, and took the sheet from the quire, 
I found on the opposite side of it the portrait which I had 
just been tracing, I was about to tear it off and give it to 
the chief. 

"Hold!" said he, "let it go to Rome; let them see what 
kind of a looking fellow I am. Perhaps the Prince and 
his friends may form as good an opinion of me from my 
face as you have done." 

This was. said sportively, yet it was evident there was 
vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful 
chief of banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight 
and precaution, in the common wish to be admired. He 
never reflected what use might be made of this portrait 
in his pursuit and conviction. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger 
departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock 
in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In 
spite of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving appetite., 
I was glad therefore to hear the captain talk something 
about eating. He observed that for three days and 
nights they had been lurking about among rocks and 
woods, meditating their expedition to Tusculum, during 
which time all their provisions had been exhausted. He 
should now take measures to procure a supply. Leaving 
me, therefore, in charge of his comrade, in whom he 
appeared to have implicit confidence, he departed, assur- 
ing me that in less than two hours I should make a good 
dinner. Where it as to come from was an enigma to me, 
though it was evident these beings had their secret friends 
and agents throughout the country, 

Indee^i the inhabitants of these mountains, and of the 
valley.s' which they embosom, are a rude, half -civilized 



358 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

set. The towns and villages among the forests of the 
Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, are almost 
like savage dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, 
so little known and visited, should be embosomed in the 
midst of one of the most travelled and civilized countries 
of Europe. Among these regions the robber prowls 
unmolested; not a mountaineer hesitates l:o give him 
secret harbor and assistance. The shepherds, however, 
who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favorite 
emissaries of the robbers, when they would send messages 
dowii to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. 

The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes 
they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or 
brown sheepskin; they have high conical hats, and coarse 
sandals of cloth bound around their legs with thongs, 
similar to those worn by the robbers. They carry long 
staves, on which, as they lean, they form picturesque 
objects in the lonely landscape, and they are followed by 
their ever-constant companion, the dog. They are a cur- 
ious, questioning set, glad at any time to relieve the 
monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the 
passer-by ; and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put 
on as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was now left 
alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion 
of the chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous of 
the band ; and though his countenance had something of 
tt^t dissolute fierceness which seems natural to this 
desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traces 
of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could not but 
admire it, I had remarked in him an air of abstraction 
and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffer- 
ing and impatience. He now sat on the ground, his 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 359 

elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched 
fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of 
sadness and bitter rumination. I had grown familiar 
with him from repeated conversations, and had found him 
superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was anxious 
to seize any opportunity of sounding the feelings of these 
singular beings. 1 fancied I read in the countenance of 
this one traces of self-condemnation and remorse; and 
the ease with which I had drawn forth the confidence of 
the chieftain, encouraged me to hope the same with his 
follower. 

After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to 
ask him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his 
family, and taken to this dangerous profession. **I feel,'* 
replied he, *'but one regret, and that will end only with 
my life." 

As he said this, he pressed his clenched fists upon his 
bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth^ and added^ 
with a deep emotion, '*Ihave something within here that 
stifles me; it is like a burning iron consuming my very 
heart. I could teJl you a miserable story — but not now — 
another time.'' 

He relapsed into* his former position, and sat with his 
head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken 
ejaculations, and what appeared at times to be curses and 
maledictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, 
so I left him to himself. In a little while the exhaustion 
of his feelings, and probably the fatigues he had under- 
gone in this expedition, began to produce drowsiness. He 
struggled with it for a time, but the warmth and stillness 
of mid-day made it irresistible, and he at length stretched 
himself upon the herbage and fell asleep. 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My 



360 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

gnard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs 
relaxed by sleep — his bosom open for the blow — his car- 
bine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by his 
side — his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was 
usually carriedo Two only of his comrades were in sight, 
and those at a considerable distance on the edge of the 
mountain, their backs turned to us, and their attention 
occupied in keeping a lookout upon the plain. Through 
a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep 
descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priore. To have 
secured the carbine of the sleeping brigand; to have seized 
upon his poniard, and have plunged it in his heart, would 
have been the work of an instant. Should he die without 
noise, I might dart through the forest, and down, to Rocca 
Priore before my flight might be discovered. In case of 
alarm, I should still have a fair start of the robbers, and 
a chance of getting beyond the reach of their shot. 

Here then was an opportunity for both escape and. 
vengeance; perilous indeed, but powerfully tempting. 
Had my situation been more critical, I could not have 
resisted it, I reflected, however, for a moment. The 
attempt, if successful, would be followed by the sacrifice 
of my two fellow-prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, 
and could not be awakened in time to escape. The 
laborer who had gone after the ransom might also fall a 
victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money which 
he brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief 
towards me made me feel confident of speedy deliverance. 
These reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, 
and 1 calmed the turbulent agitation which it had 
awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused 
myself with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 36J 

now about noon, and everything had sunk into repose, like 
the sleeping bandit before me. The noontide stillness 
that reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape: 
below gleaming with distant towns, and dotted with vari- 
ous habitations and signs of life, yet all so silent, had a- 
powerful effect upon my mind. The intermediate valleys^ 
too, which lie among the mountains, have a peculiar air 
of solitude. Few sounds are heard at mid-day to break 
the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a sol- 
itary muleteer, lagging with his lazy animal along the road 
which winds through the centre of the valley; sometimes 
the faint piping of the shepherd's reed from the side of 
the mountain, or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pac- 
ing along, followed by a monk with bare feet, and bare> 
shining head, and carrying provisions to his convent. 

I had continued to sketch for some time among my 
sleeping companions, when at length I saw the captain of 
the band approaching, followed by a peasant leading a 
mule, on which was a well-filled sack. I at first appre- 
hended that this was some new prey fallen into the hands 
of the robber ; but the contented look of the peasant soon 
relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our 
promised repast. The brigands now came running from 
the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of 
vultures. Every one busied himself in unloading the 
mule, and relieving the sack of its contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was an enor- 
mous ham, of a color and plumpness that would have 
inspired the pencil of Teniers ; ^ it was followed by a large 
cheese, a bag of boiled chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, 
and a quantity of good household bread. Everything 

» Teniers was a Flemish painter (1610.1690);, famous for his pictures o» 
domestic and peasant life. 



362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

was arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry', 
and the captain, presenting me with his knife, requested 
me to help myself „ We all seated ourselves around the 
viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound of 
vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine 
as it revolved briskly about the circle. , My long fasting, 
and mountain air and exercise, had given me a keen appe- 
tite ; and never did repast appear to me more excellent or 
picturesque. 

From time to time one of the band was dispatched to 
keep a lookout upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, 
and the dinner was undisturbed. The peasant received 
nearly three times the value of his provisions, and set off 
down the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. 1 
felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and not- 
withstanding that the wound I had received the evening 
before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely 
interested and gratified by the singular scenes continually 
presented to me. Everything was picturesque about these 
wild beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs; their 
groups on guard ; their indolent noontide repose on the 
mountain-brow, their rude repast on the herbage among 
rocks and trees; everything presented a study for a 
painter : but it was towards the approach of evening that 
I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, 
shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summit of the 
Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow shone 
brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their brightness 
with others, which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints 
of purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the land- 
scape darkened into a sterner character. The immense 
solitude around; the wild mountains broken into rocks 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 363 

and precipices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, and 
chestnuts ; and the groups of banditti in the foreground, 
reminded me of the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. 

To beguile the time, the captain proposed to his com- 
rades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I 
must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to 
form an estimate of their value. He set the example, the 
others followed it ; and in a few moments I saw the grass 
before me sparkling with jewels and gems that would 
have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. 

Among them were several precious jewels and antique 
intaglios and cameos of great value, the spoils, doubtless, 
of travellers of distinction. I found that they were in 
the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns; but 
as these, in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, and 
little frequented by travellers, they could offer no market 
for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I sug- 
gested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining 
great prices for these gems among the rich strangers with 
whom Eome was thronged. 

The impression made upon their greedy minds was 
immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man, 
and the least known, requested permission of the captain 
to depart the following day, in disguise, for Eome, for the 
purpose of traffic, promising, on the faith of a bandit (a 
sacred pledge among them), to return in two days to any 
place that he might appoint. The captain consented, and 
a curious scene took place; the robbers crowded round 
him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they 
wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to 
demand. There was much bargaining and exchanging 
and selling of trinkets among them; and I beheld my 
watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, purchased by 



364 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the young robbbr-merchant of the ruffian who had plun. 
dered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope, 
that if it went to Rome, I might somehow or other 
regain possession of it.* 

In the meantime day declined, and no messenger 
returned from Tusculum. The idea of passing another 
night in the woods was extremely disheartening, for I 
began to be satisfied with what I had seen of jobber -life. 
The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he 
might station them at their posts; adding, that, if the 
messenger did not return before night, they must shift 
their quarters to some other place. 

I was again left alone with the young bandit who had 
before guarded me ; he had the same gloomy air and haggard 
eye, with now and then a bitter sardonic smile. I deter- 
mined to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of 
a kind promise he had given me to tell me the cause of 
his suffering. ^ It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits 
were glad of any opportunity to disburden themselves, and 
of having some fresh, undiseased mind, with which they 
could communicate. I had hardly made the request, 
when he seated himself by my side, and gave me his story 
in, as near as I can recollect, the following words. 

THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER , 

I was born in the little town of Frosinone, which lies at 
the skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little 

* The hopes of the artist were not disappointed : the robber 
was stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in his 
looks or deportment had excited suspicion. He was searched, 
and the valuable trinkets found on him sufficiently evinced his 
character. On applying to the police, the artist's watch was 
returned to him. — [Author's Note.] , 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 366 

property in trade, and gave me some education, as he 
intended me for the Church ; but 1 had kept gay company 
too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about 
the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome 
on occasion, but good-humored in the main; so I made 
my way very well for a time, until I fell in love. There 
lived in our town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the Prince, 
who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of ^ sixteen ; 
she was looked upon as something better than the com- 
mon run of our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely 
at home. I saw her occasionally, and became madly in 
love with her — she looked so fresh aud tender, and so differ- 
ent from the sunburnt females to whom I had been accus- 
tomed. 

As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, 
and took all opportunities of showing myself off to 
advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see 
her at church; and as I could play a little upon the 
guitar, I gave a tune sometimes under her window of an 
evening; and I tried to have interviews with her in her 
father's vineyard, not far from the town, where she some- 
times walked. She was evidently pleased with me, but 
she was young and shy; and her father kept a strict eye 
\apon her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he had a 
bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match for his 
daughter. 1 became furious at the difficulties thrown in 
my way, having been accuscomea aiways to easy success 
among the women, being considered one of the smartest 
young fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a rich 
farmer from a neighboring town. The wedding-day was 
appointed, and preparations were making, I got sight 
of her at the window, and I thought she looked sadly at 



366 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

me. I determined the match should not take place, cost 
what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the 
market-place, and could not restrain the expression of my 
rage. A few hot words passed between us, when I drew 
my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a 
neighboring church for refuge, and with a little money I 
obtained absolution, but I did not dare to venture from 
my asylum. 

At that time our captain was forming his troop. He 
had known me from boyhood; and hearing of my situa- 
tion, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that 1 
agreed to enroll myself among his followers. Indeed, I 
had more than once thought of taking to this mode of 
life, having known several brave fellows of the mountains, 
who used to spend their money freely among us youngsters 
of the town. I accordingly left my asylum late one 
night, repaired to the appointed place of meeting, took 
the oaths prescribed, and became one of the troop. We 
were for some time in a distant part of the mountains, 
and our wild adventurous kind of life hit my fancy won- 
derfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length they 
returned with all their violence to the recollection of 
Rosetta; the solitude in which I often found myself gave 
me time to brood over her image; and, as I have kept 
watch at night over our sleeping camp m the mountains, 
my feelings have been aroused almost to a ferer. 

At length we shifted our ground, and determined to 
make a descent upon the road between Terracina and 
Naples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day 
or two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosinone. 
I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down upon 
that place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta. I 
determined to have an interview with her ; — but to what 



THE STORY 01' THE YOUNG ROBBEE 367 

purpose? I could not expect that she would quit her 
home, and accompany me in my hazardous life among 
the mountains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
for that ; when I looked upon the women who were asso- 
ciated with some of our troop, I could not have borne the 
thoughts of her being their companion. All return to 
^y former life was likewise hopeless, for a price was set 
upon my head. Still I determined to see her; the very 
hazard and fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to 
accomplish it. 

About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain to 
draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting the 
chance of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, 
and compelling them to a ransom. We were lying in 
ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard of 
Kosetta's father. I stole quietly from my companions, 
and drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent 
walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I 
beheld the gleaming of a white dress! I knew it must be 
Rosetta's; it being rare for any female of that place to 
dress in white. I advanced secretly and without noise, 
until, putting aside the vines, I stood suddenly before her. 
She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms, 
put my hand upon her mouth, and conjured her to be 
silent. I poured out all the frenzy of my passion ; offered 
to renounce my mode of life; to put my fate in her 
hands; to fly where we might live in safety together. All 
that I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead of 
love, horror and affright seemed to have taken possession 
of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, and 
filled the air with her cries. 

In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions 
were around us. I would have given anything at that 



MS TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

moment had she been safe out of our hands and in hei 
lather's house. It was too late. The Captain pronounced 
her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the 
mountains. I represented to him that she was my prize ; 
that 1 had a previous claim to her ; and I mentioned mji 
former attachment. He sneered bitterly in reply ; observed 
"that brigands had no business with village intrigues, and 
that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of the 
kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were 
raging in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience 
and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we 
made for the mountains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were 
so feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support 
her. I could not endure the idea that my comrades 
should touch her, and assuming a forced tranquillity, 
begged she might be confided to me, as one to whom 
she was more accustomed. The captain regarded me, 
for a moment, with a searching look, but 1 bore it with- 
out flinching, and he consented. I took her in my 
arms, she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my 
shoulder; I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed to 
fan the flame which devoured me. Oh God ! to have this 
glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think it was not 
mine ! 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain ; I ascended 
it with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, 
but I would not relinquish my delicious burden. I 
reflected with rage, however, that I must soon do so. The 
thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to 
my rude companions maddened me. I felt tempted, the 
stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and 
bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER ^9 

before I saw its rashness ; but my brain was fevered with 
the thought that any but myself should enjoy her charms. 
I endeavored to outstrip my companions by the quickness 
of my movements, and to get a little distance ahead, in 
case any favorable opportunity of escape should present. 
Vain effort! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered 
a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl 
partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength or 
motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain darted 
on me a terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to 
scour the woods with my companions in search of some 
shepherd, who might be sent to her father's to demand 
a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril.^ To resist with violence was 
certain death, but to leave her alone, in the power of the 
captain — I spoke out then with a fervor, inspired by my 
passion and by despair. I reminded the captain that 1 
was the first to seize her ; that she was my prize ; and that 
my previous attachment to her ought to make her sacred 
among my companions. I insisted, therefore, that he 
should pledge me his word to respect her, otherwise I 
would refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply was 
to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did 
the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent 
rage. What could I do? I felt the madness of resistance. 
I was menaced on all hands, and my companions obliged 
me to follow them. She remained alone with the chief — 
yes, alone — and almost lifeless ! — 

Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by 
his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead; 
he panted rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose 
and fell like the waves of the troubled sea. When he 
had become a little calm, he continued his recital. 



370 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he.' I ran 
with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back 
before what I dreaded might take place. I had left ipy 
companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they 
had reached one half the distance I had mad^. I hurried 
them back to the place where we had left the captain. 
As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of 
Rosetta. 

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her 
hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, 
requesting her father to send three hundred dollars 
as her ransom. The letter was dispatched by the 
shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly 
to me. '*You have set an example," said he, "of 
mutiny and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruin- 
ous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, 
this bullet would have been driven through your brain. 
But you are an old friend. I have borne patiently with 
your fury and your folly. I have even protected you 
from a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. 
As to this girl, the laws of our association must have 
their course." 

Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, 
and it was some moments before he could resume his 
story. 

Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld the 
impossibility of avenging myself ; and I felt that, according 
to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, 
the captain was in the right. I rushed with frenzy from 
the place ; I threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the 
grass with my hands; and beat my head and gnashed 
my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, 
I beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled, her dress 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 371 

torn and disordered. An emotion of pity, for a moment, 
subdued my fiercer feelings, I bore her to the foot of a 
tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, 
which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, 
endeavored to make her swallow a littlOo To what a con- 
dition was she reduced! she, whom I had once seen the 
pride of Frosinone, whom but a short time before I had 
beheld sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and 
beautiful, and happy! Her teeth were clenched; her eyes 
fixed on the ground ; her form without motion, and in a 
state of absolute insensibility. I hung over her in an 
agony of recollection at all that she had been, and of 
anguish of what I now beheld her. I darted around a look 
of horror at my companions, who seemed like so many 
fiends exulting in the downfall of an angel; and I felt a 
horror at being myself their accomplice. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw, with -his usual pen- 
etration, what was passing within me, and ordered me to 
go upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a lookout over 
the neighborhood, and await the return of the shepherd. 
I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that raged within 
me, though I felt, for the moment, that he was my most 
deadly foe. 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my 
mind. I perceived that the captain was but following, 
with strictness, the terrible laws to which we had sworn 
fidelity; that the passion by which I had been blinded 
might, with justice, have been fatal to me, but for his for- 
bearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, and had taken 
precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my 
committing any excess in my anger. From that instant I 
felt that I was capable of pardoning him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of 



372 1 aLES of a traveller 

the mountain. The country was solitary and secure, and 
in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance cross- 
ing the plain. I hastened to meet him , He had obtained 
nothing. He had found the father plunged in the deep- 
est distress. He had read the letter with violent emotion, 
and then, calming himself with a sudden exertion, he had 
replied coldly: "My daughter has been dishonored by 
those wretches ; let her be returned without ransom, — or 
let her die!" 

I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, according to 
the laws of our troop, her death was inevitable. Our 
oaths reiq aired it. I felt, nevertheless, that, not having 
been able to have her to myself, I could be her execu- • 
tioner I 

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing 
upon his last frightful word?, which proved to what excess 
the passions may be carried when escaped from all moral 
restraint. There was a horrible verity in this story that 
reminded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. 

"We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. 
After the report of the shepherd, I returned with him,- 
and the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of her 
father. At a signal which we all understood, we fol- 
lowed him to some distance from the victim. He there 
pronounced her sentence of death. Every one stood ready 
to execute his orders, but I interfered. I observed that 
there vas something due to pity as well as to justice; that 
I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law, 
which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated 
to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that 
though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made with- 
out cruelty. 'The night is approaching,' continued I ; *she 
will soon be wrapped in sleep ; let her then be dispatched. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 373 

All I now claim on the score of former kindness is, let 
me strike the blow, I will do it as surely, though more 
tenderly than another.' Several raised their voices 
against my proposition, but the captain imposed silence on 
them. He told me 1 might conduct her into a thicket at 
some distance, and he relied upon my promisCc 

I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn 
kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive 
possessor, I bore her off into the thickness of the forest. 
She remained in the same state of insensibility or stupor. 
I was thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she 
once murmured my name, I should have been overcome 
She slept at length in the arms of him who was to poniard 
her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before J could 
bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had 
become sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and 
I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should 
become her executioner. When her repose had continued 
for some time, I separated myself gently from her, that I 
might not disturb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my 
poniard, plunged it into her bosom. A painful and con- 
centrated murmur, but without any convulsive movement, 
accompanied her last sigh. — So perished this unfortunate! 

He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, covering my 
face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from 
myself the frightful images he had presented to my mind. 
I was roused from this silence by the voice of the captain . 
*'You sleep," said he, *'and it is time to be off. Come, 
we must abandon this height, as night is setting in, and 
the messenger is not returned. I will post some one on 
the mountain edge to conduct him to the place where we 
shall pass the night." 



374 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart 
with the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and 
fatigued, and the sight of the banditti began to grow 
insupportable to me. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly 
descended the forest, which We had mounted with so much 
difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in what 
appeared to be a frequented road. The robbers proceeded 
with great caution, carrying their guns cocked, and look- 
ing on every side with wary and suspicious eyes. They 
were apprehensive of encountering the civic patrole. We 
left Eocca Priore behind us. There was a fountain near 
by, and as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission 
to stop and drink. The captain himself went and brought 
me water in his hat. We pursued our route, when, at 
the extremity of an alley which crossed the road, I per- 
ceived a female on horseback, dressed in whitCc She was 
alone. I recollected the fate of the poor girl in the story, 
and trembled for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and 
.plunging into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the 
direction towards her. Stopping on the border of the 
alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented his car- 
bine ready to menace her, or to shoot her horse if she 
attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her approach. 
I kept my eyes fixed on her with jntense anxiety, I felt 
tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, though my 
own destruction would have been the consequence. It 
was awful to see this tiger crouching ready for a bound, 
and the poor innocent victim unconsciously near him. 
Nothing but a mere chance could save her. To my joy 
the chance turned in her favor. She seemed almost acci- 
dentally to take an opposite path, which led outside of 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 375 

the woods, where the robber dared not venture. To this 
casual deviation she owed her safety. 

I oould not imagine why the captain of the band had 
ventured to such a distance from the height on which he 
had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the mes- 
senger. He seemed himself anxious at the risk to which 
he exposed himself. His movements were rapid and 
uneasy ; I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, 
after three hours of what might be termed a forced 
march, we mounted the extremity of the same woods, 
the summit of which we had occupied during the day; 
and I learnt with satisfaction that we had reached our 
quarters for the night. **You must be fatigued," said 
the chieftain; "but it was necessary to survey the environs 
so as not to be surprised during the night. Had we met 
with the famous civic guard of Kocca Priore, you would 
have seen fine sport." Such was the indefatigable pre- 
caution and forethought of this robber chief, who really 
gave continual evidence of military talent. 

The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above 
the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand 
features of the mountain, while lights twinkling here and 
there, like terrestrial stars in the wide dusky expanse of 
the landscape, betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. 
Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many agitations I had 
experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by the hope of 
approaching deliverance. The captain ordered his com- 
panions to collect some dry moss; he arranged with his 
own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave 
me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel 
both surprised and gratified by such unexpected attentions 
on the part of this benevolent cutthroat ; for there is 
nothing more striking than to find the ordinary charities, 



376 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

which are matters of conrse in common life, flourishing 
by the side of such stern and sterile crime. It is like 
finding tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley 
growing among the rocks and cinders of the volcano. 

Before I fell asleep I had some further discourse with 
the captain, who seemed to feel great confidence in me. 
He referred to our previous conversation of the morning ; 
told me he was weary of his hazardous profession ; that he 
had acquired sufficient property, and was anxious to 
return to the world, and lead a peaceful life in the bosom 
of his family. He wished to know whether it was not in 
my power to procure for him a passport to the United 
States of America. I applauded his good intentions, and 
promised to do everything in my power to promote its suc- 
cess. We then parted for the night. I stretched myself 
upon my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt 
like a bed of down; and, sheltered by the robber-mantle 
from all humidity, I slept soundly, without waking, until 
the signal to arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. 
As the place where we had passed the night was too much 
exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A 
fire was kindled. While there was any flame, the man- 
tles were again extended round it; but when nothing 
remained but glowing cinders, they were lowered, and the 
robbers seated themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of those 
described by Homer. There wanted only the victim on 
the coals, and the sacred knife to cut off the succulent 
parts, and distribute them around. My companions might 
have rivalled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of 
the noble repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon,- 
I beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham 



THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 377 

which had sustained so vigorous an attack on the preced' 
ing evening, accompanied by the relics of the bread, 
cheese, and wine. We had scarcely commenced our frugal 
breakfast, when I heard again an imitation of the bleating 
of sheep, similar to what I had heard the day before. The 
captain answered it in the same tone. Two men were soon 
after seen descending from the woody height, where we 
had passed the preceding evening. On nearer approach, 
they proved to be the sentinel and the messenger. The 
captain rose, and went to meet them. He made a signal 
for his comrades to join him. They had a short confer- 
ence, and then returning to me with great eagerness, 
**Your ransom is paid," said he, *'you are free!" 

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell yott 
what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not 
to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain 
took me by the hand, requested permission to write to 
me, and begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, 
that I hoped to be of effectual service to him, and that I 
relied on his honor to return the Prince's note for five 
hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid. He regarded 
me for a moment with surprise, then seeming to recollect 
himself, "^ ^u^s^o," said he, '^Eccolo — ■adior''^ He 
delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, and 
we separated. The laborers were permitted to follow me, 
and we resumed with joy our road toward Tusculum, 

The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party continued, 
for a few moments, to pace the shore in silence. The 
story had made a deep impression, particularly on the 
Venetian lady. At that part which related to the young 
girl of Frosinone, she was violently affected. Sobs broke 

> It is .iust— there it is— adieu' 



378 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

from her ; she clung closer to her husband, and as she 
looked up to him as if for protection, the moonbeams 
shining on her beautifully fair countenance, showed it paler 
than usual, while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. 

^^ CorragiOy mia vital' ^^ said he, as he gently and fondly 
tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm. 

The party now returned to the inn, and separated for 
the night. The fair Venetian, though of the sweetest 
temperament, was half out of humor with the English- 
man, for a certain slowness of faith which he had evinced 
throughout the whole evening. She could not understand 
this dislike to *'humbug, " as he termed it, which held a 
kind of sway over him, and seemed to control his opinions 
and his very actions. 

"I'll warrant," said she to her husband, as they retired 
for the night, — **I'll warrant, with all his affected indiffer- 
ence, this Englishman's heart would quake at the very 
sight of a bandit." 

Her husband gently, and good-humoredly, checked her. 

**I have no patience with these^ Englishmen," said she, 
as she got into bed, — "they are so cold and insensible!" 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 

In the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina. 
The procaccio had departed at daybreak on its route 
towards "Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and 
the departure of an English equipage is always enough to 
keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion there was more 
than usual stir, for the Englishman, having much prop- 
erty about him, and having been convinced of the real 

» Courage, my life! 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 379 

danger of the road, had applied to the police, and obtained, 
by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons and 
twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi. 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation 
at bottom, though, to say the truth, he had nothing of it 
in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and reserved as 
usual, among the gaping crowd; gave laconic orders to 
John, as he packed away the thousand and one indispen- 
sable conveniences of the night; double loaded his pistols 
with great sang f void ^ and deposited them in the pockets 
of the carriage ; taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes 
gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. 

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made in 
her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage to 
proceed under protection of his escort. The Englishman, 
who was busy loading another pair of pistols for his serv- 
ant, and held the ramrod between his teeth, nodded 
assent, as a matter of course, but without lifting up his 
eyes. The fair Venetian was a little piqued at what she 
supposed indifference; — *'0 Dio!" ejaculated she softly as 
she retired; *'Qnanto sono insensibili questi Inglesi."* 

At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight 
dragoons prancing in front, the twelve foot-soldiers march- 
ing in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the centre, 
to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They had 
proceeded but a few hundred yards, when it was discovered 
that some indispensable article had been left behind. In 
fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, and John was 
dispatched to the inn to search for it. This occasioned a 
little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians drove 
slowly on. John came back out of breath and out. of 
humor. The purse was not to be found. His master was 

» How cold-hearted these English are. 



B80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

irritated; he recollected the very place where it lay; he 
had not a doubt the Italian servant had pocketed it. 
John was again sent back. He returned once more with- 
out the purse, but with the landlord and the whole house- 
hold at his heels. A thousand ejaculations and protesta- 
tions, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and contortions 
— "No purse had been seen — his excellenza must be mis- 
taken. '' 

**No — his excellenza was not mistaken — the purse lay 
on the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse, half 
full of gold and silver." Again a thousand grimaces and 
contortions, and vows by San Gennaro, that no purse of 
the kind had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. **The waiter had 
pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn a den of 
thieves — it was a vile country — he had been cheated and 
plundered from one end of it to the other— but he'd have 
satisfaction — he'd drive right off to the police." 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn 
back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the 
carriage, and the purse of money fell chinking to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his facec 
—"Curse the purse," said he, as he snatched it up. He 
dashed a handful of money on the ground before the pale 
cringing waiter,— "There, be off!" cried he. "John, 
order the postilions to drive on. 

About half an hour had been exhausted in this alterca- 
tion. The Venetian carriage had loitered along; its pas- 
sengers looking out from time to time, and expecting the 
escort every moment to follow. They had gradually 
turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. 
The little army was again in motion, and made a very 
picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 381 

of the rocks ; the morning sunshine beaming upon the 
weapons of the soldiery. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with 
himself at what had passed, and consequently out of 
humor with all the world. As this, however, is no 
uncommon case with gentlemen who travel for their pleas- 
ure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They had wound up 
from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the 
road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 

*'I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, 
leaning down from the coach-box. 

**Pish!" said the Englishman, testily; "don^t plague 
me about th^ lady's carriage; must I be continually pes- 
tered with the concerns of strangers?" John said not 
another word, for he understood his master's mood. 

The road grew more wild and lonely ; they were slowly 
proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill ; the dragoons were 
some distance ahead, and had just reached the summit of 
the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather 
shout, and galloped forward. The Englishman was 
roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head 
from the carriage, which had attained the brow of the hilL 
Before him extended a long hollow defile, commanded on 
one side by rugged precipitous heights, covered with bushes 
of scanty forest. At some distance he beheld the car- 
riage of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang of 
desperadoes were rifling it; the young man and his servant 
were overpowered, and partly stripped; and the lady was 
in the hands of two of the ruffians. The Englishman 
seized his pistols, sprang from the carriage, and callea 
upon John to follow him. 

In the meantime, as the dragoons came forward, the 
robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their 



382 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

spoil, formed themelves in the middle of the road, and 
taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, 
another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment 
checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded 
again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their carV 
bines, but without apparent effect. They received another 
volley, which, though none fell, threw them again into 
confusion. The robbers were loading a second time when 
they saw the f6ot-soldiers at hand. ^''Scampa viaf'' ^ was 
the word: they abandoned their prey, and retreated up 
the rocks, the soldiers after them. They fought from 
cliff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers turning every 
now and then to fire upon their pursuers; the soldiers 
scrambling after them, and discharging their muskets 
whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier 
or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling among the 
cliffs. The dragoons kept "firing from below, whenever a 
robber came in sight. 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, 
and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled 
past him as he advanced. One object, however, engrossed 
his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady in the 
hands of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion 
of the fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. He 
saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang 
up the rocks to intercept the robbers, as they bore off 
their prey. The rnggedness of the steep, and the entan- 
glements of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He" 
lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, 
which grew fainter and fainter. They were off to the 
left, while the reports of muskets showed that the battle 
was raging to the right. At length he came upon what 

» Away at once I 



THE ADVENTtTRE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 383 

appeared to be a rugged foot-path, faintly worn in a giil- 
ley of the rocks, and beheld the rufi&ans at some distance 
hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them hearing 
his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, and 
levelling the carbine which had been slung on his back, 
fired. The ball whizzed through the Englishman's hat, 
and carried with it some of his hair. He returned the 
fire vdth one of his pistols, and the robber fell. The 
other brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a long 
pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary with deliberate 
aim. The ball passed between his left arm and his side, 
slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman advanced, 
and discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the 
robber, but not severely. 

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his adver- 
sary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight 
wound, and defended himself with his pistol, which had a 
spring bayonet. They closed with one another, and a 
desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square 
built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. The 
Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, 
was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exercises 
and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised 
and skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy 
height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist 
was striving to press him to the edge. A side-glance 
showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, 
scrambling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto in 
hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the cliff, 
he was within a few steps, and the Englishman felt that 
his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the report 
of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came from 
John, who had arrived just in time to save his master. 



384 TALES OF jx TRAVELLEjh 

The remaining roober, exhausted by loss of blood and 
the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. 
The Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him, 
and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from 
the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying 
motionless among the rocks below. 

The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He 
found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's 
assistance he bore her down to the road, where her hus- 
band was raving like one distracted. He had sought her 
in vain, and had given her over for lost ; and when he 
beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was equally 
wild and ungovernable. He would have caught her insen- 
sible form to his bosom had not the Englishman restrained 
him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed a true 
tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would not have 
expected from his habitual phlegm. His kindness, how- 
ever, was practical, not wasted in words. He dispatched 
John to the carriage for restoratives of all kinds, and, 
totally thoughtless of himself, was anxious only about his 
lovely charge. The occasional discharge of firearms along 
the height, showed that the retreating fight was still kept 
up by the robbers. The lady gave signs of reviving 
animation. The Englishman, eager to get her from this* 
place of danger, conveyed her to his own carriage, and, 
committing her to the care of her husband, ordered the 
dragoons to escort them to Eondi. The Venetian would 
have insisted on the Englishman's getting into the car- • 
riage ; but the latter refused. He poured forth a. torrent 
of thanks and benedictions ; but the Englishman beckoned 
to the postilions to drive on. 

John now dressed his master^s wounds, which were 
found not to be serious, though he was faint with loss of 



THE AD VENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 385 

bloodo The Venetian carriage had been righted, and the 
baggage replaced; and, getting into it, they set out on 
their way towards Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still 
engaged in ferreting out the bandittis 

Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian had com- 
pletely recovered from her swoon. She made the usual 
question,— 

** Where was she?" 

**In the Englishman's carriage,'' 

*'How had she escaped from the robbers?" 

**The Englishman had rescued her," 

Her transports were unbounded; and mingled with 
them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her 
deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself for 
having accused him of coldness and insensibility The 
moment she saw him, she rushed into his arms with the 
vivacity of her nation, and hung about his neck in a 
speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man more 
embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 

**Tut! — tut!" said the Englishman. 

**You are wounded!" shrieked the fair Venetian as she 
saw blood upon his clothes. 

** Pooh! nothing at all!" 

*'My deliverer! — my -angel!" she exclaimed, clasping 
him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. 

*'Pish!" said the Englishman, with a good-humored 
tone, but looking somewhat foolish, *'this is all humbug." 

The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused th^ 
English of insensibility. 



PAET FOXJETB 
THE MONEY-DIGGEES 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER » 

"Now I remember those old women's words, 
' Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales: 

And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by nighl 
About the place where treasure hath been hid." 

Marlowe's Jew of Malta. 



» The fictitious Diedrich Knickerbocker was one of Irvlng's most tngen- 
lous Inventions. His first book, The Knickerbocker History of New York, 
purported to have been written by this mysterious antiquary: and oftei? 
^ter Irving returned to this early device, always with happy results. Id 
the present volume, see the prefatory note to the story of Rip Van Winkle 
and the postscript to the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The student is starongly 
recommended to read at least the opening chapters ft' the ,^n^ckerbotm^ 
BUtory. 



387 



HELL-GATE 

About six miles from the renowned city of the Manhat- 
toes,^ in that Sound or arm of the sea which passes 
between the mainland and Nassau, or Long Island, there 
is a narrow strait, where the current is violently com- 
pressed between shouldering promontories, and horribly 
perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, at the best of 
times, a very violent, impetuous current, it takes these 
impedim;ents in mighty dudgeon; boiling in whirlpools; 
brawling and fretting in ripples; raging and roaring in 
rapids and breakers; and, in short, indulging in all kinds 
of wrong-headed paroxysms. -At such times, woe to any 
unlucky vessel that ventures within its clutches. 

This termagant humor, however, prevails only at certain 
times of tide. At low water, for instance, it is as pacific 
a stream as you would wish to see; but as the tide rises, 
it begins to fret; at half-tide it roars with might and 
main, like a bull bellowing for more drink; but when the 
tide is full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a time, sleeps 
as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In fact, it may 
be compared to a. quarrelsome toper, who is a peaceable 
fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, or when he 
has a skinfull; bat who, \7hen half- seas over, plays the 
very devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little 
strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the 

» The Manhattoes, or Manhattans were the Indian tribes inhabiting Man- 
liattan Island, on which the Dutch built the town of New Amsterdpia. 
Irving seems to avoid the modem name, New York, as nnpoetical. 

389 



390 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

8 

Dutch navigators of ancient days; hectoring their tub- 
built barks in a most unruly style; whirling them about 
in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, and 
not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs, 
as it did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer,^ 
when seeking a place to found the city of the Manhattoes. 
"^hereupon, out of sheer splefen, they denominated it 
Helle-Gaty and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This 
appellation has since been aptly rendered into English by 
the name of Hell-gate,^ and into nonsense by the name of 
/T^^rZ-gate, according to certain foreign intruders, who 
neither understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicholas 
confound them! 

This sti:ait of Hell-gate was a place of great awe and 
perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been 
much of a navigator on those small seas, and having more 
than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning in the 
course of certain holiday voyages, to which, in common 
with other Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, 
partly from the name, and partly from various strange 
circumstances connected with it, this place had far more 
terrors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself 
than had Scylla and Charybdis ^ for the navigators of yore. 

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of 
rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck of 
a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools and 
stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told to 
lis of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale-of 

1 See the Knickerbocker History, Book II., Chap. iv. 

2 Hell Gate is no longer six miles from the city; on a modern map It lies 
«ast of Ninetieth Street, in East River. The euphemistic etymology, Hurl- 
gate, is no longer heard. The most dangerous rocks of the place were blasted 
out some years ago. 

3 A narrow place in the Straits of Messina. Charybdis is a whirlpool 
and Scylla a headland opposite. In avoiding one there was always risk of 
falling into danger of the other. See Vergil, Aeneid, Book III., 1. 420, ff. 



HELL-GATE 391 

bloody murder which I cannot now recollect, but which 
made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in 
our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn 
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were 
enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timber- 
heads, hlackened by time, just peered above the surface at 
high water ; but at low tide a considerable part of the hull 
was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, partly stripped of 
their planks, and dripping with sea-weeds, looked like the 
huge skeleton of some sea-monster. There was also the 
stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging 
about and whistling in the wind, while the sea-gull 
wheeled and screamed around the melancholy carcass. I 
have a faint recollection of some hobgoblin tale of sailors' 
ghosts being seen about this wreck at nigJit, with bare 
skulls, and blue flights in their sockets instead of eyes, 
but I have forgotten all the particulars. 

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the 
straits of Pelorus ^ of yore, a region of fable and romance 
to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders 
of the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and 
indented by rocky nooks overhung with trees, which give 
them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my bov- 
hood, they abounded with traditions about pirates, gnosts, 
smugglers, an.d buried money, which had a wonderful 
effect upon the young minds of my companions and 
myself. 

As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent 
research after the truth of these strange traditions ; for I 
have always been a curious investigator of the valuable 
but obscure branches of the history of my native province. 

» The northeastern promontory of Sicily. There is a dangerous passage 
between this island and the mainland of 'taly. 



392 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at any 
precise information. In seeking to dig up one fact, it is 
incredible the number of fables that I unearthed. I will 
say nothing of the devil's stepping-stones, by which the 
arch-fiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long 
Island, across the Sound; seeing the subject is likely to 
be learnedly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary 
historian whom I have furnished with particulars thereof.* 
Neither will I say anything of the black man in the three- 
cornered hat, seated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used 
to be seen about Hell -gate in stormy weather, and who 
ivent by the name of the pirate's spuhe (i. e. pirate's 
^host,) and whom, it is said, old Governor Stuyvesant 
once shot with a silver bullet ; ^ because I never could 
meet with any person of stanch credibility who professed 
to have seen this spectrum, unless it were the widow of 
Manus Oonklen, the blacksmith, of Frogsneck;^ but then, 
poor woman, she was a little purblind, and might have 
been mistaken; though they say she saw farther than 
other folks in the dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard 
to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about 

* For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil 
find his stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir ^ read before 
the New York Historical Society, since the death of Mr. Knick- 
erbocker, by his friend, an eminent jurist of the place. — [Au- 
thor's Note.] 

1 With a silver bullet because the traditional belief was that a ghost 
could not be Injured by a bullet made of any other metal. Peter Stuyve- 
sant was the last Dutch governor of New York. 

8 "Frogsneck" is a corruption of Throgg's-n6ck, which in turn is an 
abbreviation of Throggmorton's-neck. The place is now called Throgg's- 
neck. It lies a few miles above Hell-gate and is a point of land projecting 
out into the Soimd. 

3 The memoir is by Egbert Benson; it is to be found in the Collections of 
the New York Historical Society, Second Series, 1849, p. 121. The Stepping- 
stones were a series of rocks, bare at low tide, extending out into the Sound 
from the Long Island shore. 



KIDD THE PIRATE 393 

which I was most curious ; aud the foirowing is all that I 
could, for a long time, collect, that had anything like an 
air of authenticity. 



KIDD THE PIRATE^ 

In old times, just after the territory of the New 
Netherlands had been wrested from the hands of their 
High Mightinesses, the Lords States-General of Holland, 
by King Charles the Second,^ and while it was as yet in an 
unquiet state, the province was a great resort of random 
adventurers, loose livers, and all that class of hap-hazard 
fellows who live by their wits, and dislike the old-fash- 
ioned restraint of law and gospel. Among these, the 
foremost were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the 
deep, who perhaps in time of war had been educated in 
those schools of piracy, the privateers; but having once 
tasted the sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hanker- 
ing after it. There is but a slight step from the pri- 
vateersman to the pirate; both fight for the love of 
plunder ; only that the latter is the bravest, as he dares 
both the enemy and the gallows. 

But in whatever school they had been taught^ the 
buccaneers that kept about the English colonies were daring 
fellows, and made sad work in times of peace a,mong the 
Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. The 
easy access to the harbor of the Manhattoes, the number 
of hiding-places about its waters, and the laxity of its 
scarcely organized government, made it a great rendezvous 

1 Williain Kidd, an American pirate, who was hanged in London in 170t. 

2 Charles II. gave a grant of the territory of New Netherlands to his 
brother the Duke of York in 1664 ; in the same year the Dutch surrendered 
the colony to the Duke of York's forces. 



394 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of the pirates; where they might dispose of their booty, 
and concert new depredations. As they brought home 
with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries of the 
tropics, and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish prov- 
inces, and disposed of them with the proverbial careless- 
ness of freebooters, they were welcome visitors to the 
thrifty traders of the Manhattoes, Crews of these des- 
peradoes, therefore, the runagates of every country and 
every clime, might be seen swaggering in open day about 
the streets of the little burgh, elbowing its quiet myn- 
heers ; trafficking away their rich outlandish plunder at 
half or quarter price to the wary merchant; and then 
squandering their prize-money in taverns, drinking, 
gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, and astounding the 
neighborhood with midnight brawl and ruffian revelry. 

At length these excesses rose to such a height as to 
become a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for 
the interposition of governments Measures were accord- 
ingly taken to put a stop to the widely extended evil, and 
to ferret this vermin brood out of the colonieSo 

Among the agents employed to execute this purpose 
was the notorious Captain Kidd. He had long been an 
equivocal character ; one of those nondescript animals of 
the ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowL He was 
somewhat of a trader, something more of a smuggler, 
with a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had traded 
for many years among the pirates, in a little rakish 
mosquito-built vessel, that could run into all kinds of 
waters. He knew all their haunts and lurking-places ; was 
always hooking about on mysterious voyages, and was as 
busy as a Mother Cary's chicken in a storm. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by govern- 
ment as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon 



KIDD THE PIRATE 395 

the good old maxim of *' setting a rogue to catch a 
rogue"; or as otters are sometimes used to catch their 
cousins-german, the fish. 

Kidd acoordingly sailed for New York, in 1695, in a 
gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley, well armed 
and duly commissioned. On arriving at his old haunts, 
however, he shipped his crew on* new terms; enlisted a 
number of his old comrades, lads of the knife and the 
pistol ; and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruising 
against pirates, he turned pirate himself; steered to the 
Madeiras, to Bonavista, and Madagascar, and cruised 
about the entrance of the Eed Sea. Here, among other 
maritime robheries, he captured a rich Quedah^ merchant- 
man, manned by Moors, though commanded by an Eng- 
lishman. Kidd would fain have passed this off for a 
worthy exploit, as being a kind of crusade against the 
infidels; but government had long since lost all relish for 
such Christian triumphs. 

After foaming the seas, trafiicking his prizes, and 
changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to 
return to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swag- 
gering companions at his heels. 

Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could 
no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. 
The new Governor, Lord Bellamont,^ had signalized him- 
self by his zeal in extirpating these offenders ; and was 
doubly exasperated against Kidd, having been instrument 
tal in appointing him to the trust which he had betrayed. 
No sooner, therefore, did he show himself in Boston, than 
the alarm was given of his reappearance, and measures 



1 Quedah is a peninsula in Siam, the extreme southem point of the main* 
land of Asia. 

' Richard Coote, Earl of Bellamont, governor of New York and Mass** 
chusetts. 



396 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

were taken to arrest this cutpurse of tlie ocean. The dar 
ing character which Kidd had acquired, however, and the 
desperate fellows who followed like bulhdogs at his heels, 
caused a little delay in his arrestc He took advantage of 
this, it is said, to bury the greater part of his treasures, 
and then carried a high head about the streets of Boston 
He even attempted to defend himself when arrested, but 
was secured and thrown into prison, with his followers. 
Such was the formidable character of this pirate and his 
crew, that it was thought advisable to dispatch a frigate to 
bring them to England, Great exertions were made to 
screen him from justice, but in vain; he and his comrades 
were tried, condemned, and hanged at Execution Dock in 
London. Kidd died hard, for the rope with which he 
was first tied up broke with his weight, and he tumbled to 
the ground. He was tied up a second time, and more 
effectually; hence came,* doubtless, the story of Kidd's 
having a charmed life, and that he had to be twice hanged 

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history; but it has 
given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. 
The report of his having buried great treasures of gold 
and jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the good 
people along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors 
on rumors of great sums of money found here and there, 
sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in 
another; of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubtless 
the spoils of his eastern prizes, but which the common 
people looked upon with superstitious awe, regarding the 
Moorish letters as diabolical or magical characters. 

Some reported the treasure to have been buried in soli= 
tary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; 
but by degrees various other parts, not only on the eastern 
coast, but along the shores of the Sound, and e^en of 



KIDD THE PIRATE 397 

Manhattan and Long Island, were gilded by these rumors. 
In fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont spread 
sudden consternation among' the buccaneers in every part 
of the provinces : they secreted their money and Jewels in 
lonely out-of-the-way places, about the wild shores of the 
rivers and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over the 
face of the country. The hand of justice prevented mauy 
of them from ever returning to regain their buried treas- 
ures, whigh remained, and remain probably to this day, 
objects of enterprise for the money-digger. 

This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and 
rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the 
spots where treasures lay hidden; and many have been 
the ransackings after the pirate's booty. In all the stories 
which once abounded of these enterprises the devil played 
a conspicuous part. Either he was conciliated by cere- 
monies and invocations, or some solemn compact was made 
with him. Still he was ever prone to play the money- 
diggers some slippery trick. Some would dig so far as to 
come to an iron chest, when some baffling circumstance 
was sure to take place. Either the earth would fall in 
and fill up the pit, or some direful noise or apparition 
would frighten the party from the place: sometimes the 
devil himself would appear, and bear off the prize when 
within their very grasp; and if they revisited the place 
the next day, not a trace would be foiind of their labors 
of the preceding night. 

All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, and 
for a long time tantalized, without gratifying, my curios- 
ity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get at as 
truth, and there is nothing in this world but truth that 
I care for. I sought among all my favorite sources of 
authentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and partie- 



398 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

nlarly the old Dutch wives of the province ; but though 1 
flatter myself that I am better versed than most men in 
the curious history of my native province, yet for a long 
time my inquiries were unattended with any substantial 
result. 

At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter 
part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of 
severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those 
waters which had been the favorite resort of my boyhood, 
I was in company with several worthy burghers of my 
native city, among whom were more than one illustrious 
member of the corporation, whose names, did I dare to 
mention them, would do honor to my humble page. Our 
sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and 
we frequently changed our fishing-ground without better- 
ing our luck. We were at length anchored close under a 
ledge, of rocky coast, on the eastern side of the island of 
Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. The stream whirled 
and dimpled by us, without a wave or even a ripple; and 
everything was so calm and quiet, that it was almost star^-- 
ling when the kingfisher would pitch himself from the 
branch of some high tree, and after suspending himself 
for a moment in the air, to take his aim. would souse into 
the smooth water after his prey. While we were lolling 
in our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the 
day, and the dulness of our sport, one of our party, a 
worthy alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as he 
dozed, suffered the sinker of his drop-line to lie upon the 
bottom of the river. On waking, he found he had caught 
something of importance from the weight. On drawing it 
to the surface, we were much surprised to find it a long 
pistol of very curious and outlandish fashion, whieh. 
from its rusted condition, and its stock beirig worm eaten 



KIDD THE PIRATE 399 

and covered with barnacles, appeared to have lain a long 
time under water. The unexpected appearance of this 
document of warfare occasioned much speculation among 
my pacific companions. One supposed it to have fallen 
there during the revolutionary war; another, from the 
peculiarity of its fashion, attributed it to the voyagers in 
the earliest days of the settlement ; perchance to the 
renowned Adriaen Block, ^ who explored the Sound, and 
discovered Block Island, since so noted for its cheese. 
But a third, after regarding it for some time, pronounced 
it to be of veritable Spanish workmanship. 

**I'll warrant," said he, *'if this pistol could talk, it 
would tell strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish 
Dons. I've no doubt but it is a relic of the buccaneers 
of old times, — who knows but it belonged to Kidd him- 
self?" ' - 

"Ah! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried an old 
iron-faced Cape-Cod whaler. — ** There's a fine old song 
about him, all to the tune of — 

My name is Captain Kidd, 
As I sailed, as I sailed :.— 

and then it tells about how he gained the devil's good 
firraces by burying the Bible : — 

I'd a Bible in my hand, 

As I sailed, as I sailed. 
And I sunk it in the sand, 

As I sailed. — 

**Odsfish, if 1 thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, 
I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake. By 
the way, I recollect a story about a fellow who once dug 

^ " In 1611 the Intrepid Dutch navigator Adrian Block visited Manhattan 
Island, coasted the shores of Long Island Sound, discovering the Connecticut 
River and the Island still bearing his name." Todd, Story of New York, 
p. 10. 



400 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

up Kidd's buried money, which was written by a neighbor 
of mine, and which I learnt by heart. As the fish don't 
bite Just now, I'll tell it to you, by way of passing away 
the timec"— And so saying, he gave us the following 
narration. 



THE PEVIL AND TOM WALKER 

A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a 
deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the 
country from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly- 
wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a 
beautiful dark grove ; on the opposite side the land rises 
abruptly from the water's edge into a high ridge, on 
which grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense 
sizOr Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old 
stories, there was a great amount of treasure buried by 
Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring 
the money in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot 
of the hill ; the elevation of the place permitted a good 
lookout to be kept that no one was at hand ; while the 
remarkable trees formed good landmarks by which the 
place might easily be found again. The old stories add, 
moreover, that the devil presided at the hiding of the 
money, and took it under his guardianship; but this, it is 
well known, he always does with buried treasure, partic- 
ularly when it has been ill-gotten. Be that as it may, 
Kidd never returned to recover his wealth ; being shortly 
after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and there 
hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes 
were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall sin- 



THE DEVIL AND TOM W 4X.KER 401 

ners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a 
meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He 
had a wife as miserly as himself : they were so miserly that 
they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the 
woman could lay hands on, she hid away ; a hen could not 
cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 
Her husband was continually prying about to detect her 
secret hoards, and many and fierce were the conflicts that 
took place about what ought to have been common prop- 
erty. They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood 
alone, and had an air of starvation. A few straggling 
savin4rees, emblems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke 
ever curled from its chimney ; no traveller stopped at its 
door. ^ A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as 
the bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin 
carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged b^ds of pud- 
ding-stone, tantalized and balked his hunger; and some- 
times he would lean his head over the fence, look piteously 
at the passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance from 
this land of famine. 

The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of 
tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard 
in wordy warfare with her husband ; and his face some- 
times showed signs that their conflicts were not confined 
to words. No one ventured, however, to interfere 
between them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk within him- 
self at the horrid clamor and clapper-clawing; eyed the 
den of discord askance; and hurried on his way, rejoicing, 
if a bachelor, in his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part 
of the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short 
cut homeward, through the swamp. Like most short 



402 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

cuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly 
grown with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of 
them ninety feet high, which made it dark at noonday, 
and a retreat for all the owls of the neighborhood. It ' 
was full of pits and quagmires, partly covered with weeds 
and mosses, where the green surface often betrayed the 
traveller into a gulf of black, smothering mud : there were 
also dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tadpole, 
the bull-frog, and the water-snake ; where the trunks of . 
pines and hemlocks lay half -drowned, half -rotting, looking 
like alligators sleeping in the mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through 
this treacherous forest; stepping from tuft to tuft of 
rushes and roots, which afforded precarious footholds 
among deep sloughs; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along . 
the prostrate trunks of trees ; startled now and then by 
the sudden screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a 
wild duck rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At 
length he arrived at a firm piece of ground, which ran out 
like a peninsula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It 
had been one of the strongholds of the Indians during 
their wars with the first colonists. Here they had thrown 
up a kind of fort, which they had looked upon as almost 
impregnable, and had used as a place of refuge for their 
squaws and children. Nothing remained of the old Indian 
fort but a few embankments, gradually sinking to the level 
of the surrounding earth, and already overgrown in part 
by oiaks and other forest trees, the foliage of which formed 
a contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 
reached tha old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest 
himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to 
linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 403 

people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed 
down from the time of the Indian wars; when it was 
asserted that the savages held incantations here, and made 
sacrifices to the evil spirit. ' 

Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled 
with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some 
time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the 
boding cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walking- 
staff into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he 
turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against 
something hard. He raked it out of the vegetable 
mould, and lo! a cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk 
buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the 
weapon showed the time that had elapsed since this death- 
blow had been given. It was a dreary memento of the 
fierce struggle that had taken place in this last foothold 
of the Indian warriors. 

** Humph l" said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to 
shake the dirt from it. 

**Let that skull alone!" said a gruff voice. Tom lifted 
up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly 
opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceed- 
ingly surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one 
approach ; and he was still more perplexed on observing, 
as well as the gathering gloom would permit, that the 
stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is true he was 
dressed in a rude half Indian garb, and had a red belt or 
sash swathed round his body; but his face was neither 
black nor copper-color, but swarthy and dingy, and 
begrimed with soot, as if he had been accustomed to toil 
among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse black 
hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, and 
Dore an axe on his shoulder. 



404 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great 
red eyes. 

**What are you doing on my grounds?" said the black 
man, with a hoarse growling voice. 

'* Your grounds!" said Tom, with a sneer, ''no more your 
grounds than mine; they belong to Deacon Peabody." 

*' Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stranger, '*as 1 

flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his 
own sins and less to tbose of his neighbors. Look yon- 
der, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, 
and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing 
without, but rotten at the core, and saw that it had been 
nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind was likely 
to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was scored the 
name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had waxed 
wealthy by driving shrewd bargains with the Indians. He 
now looked around, and found most of the tall trees 
marked with the name of some great man of the colony, 
and all more or less scored by the axe. The one on which 
he had been seated, and which had evidently just been 
hewn down, bore the name of Crowninshield; and he 
recollected a mighty rich man of that name, who made a 
vulgar display of wealth, which it was whispered he had 
acquired by buccaneering.* 

*'He's just ready for burning!" said the black man, 
with a growl of triumph. "You see 1 am likely to have 
a good stock of firewood for winter." 

"But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down 
Deacon Peabody 's timber?" 

» The symbolism of this episode of the trees, and in fact much of this 
whole story, reminds one strongly of Hawthorne. Compare for example 
Hawthorne's story The Great Carbuncle in Twice Told Tales. Irvlng's story 
belongs to the general class of Faust-legends. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WA] 

"The right of a prior claim," said 
woodland belonged to n?e long before one v.- 
faced race put foot upon the soil." 

"And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?" sai, 
Tom. 

"Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman 
in some countries; the black miner in others. In this 
neighborhood lam known by the name of the black woods- 
man. I am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, 
and in honor of whom they now and then roasted a white 
man, by way of sweet- smelling sacrifice. Since the red 
men have been exterminated by you white savages, I 
amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions of Quakers 
and Anabaptists^ I am the great patron and prompter of 
slave-dealers, and the grand-master of the Salem witches. " 

"The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not," 
said Tom, sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old 
Scratch." 

"The same, at your service!" replied the black man, 
with a half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this interview, according to 
the old story; though it has almost too familiar an air to 
be credited. One would think that to meet with such a 
singular personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have 
shaken any man's nerves; but TorA was a hard-minded 
fellow, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long with 
a termagant wife, that he did not even fear the deviL 

It is said that after this commencement they had a long 
and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned home- 
ward. The black man told him of great sums of money 
buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on thp 
high ridge, not far from the morass. All these were 
under his command, and protected by his power, so that 



:ales of a traveller 

hem but such as propitiated his favor 
...ju to place within Tom Walker's reach, 
../nceived an especial kindness for him; but they 
f<iie to be had only on certain conditions. What these 
conditions were may be easily surmised; though Tom never 
disclosed them publicly c They must have been very hard, 
for he required time to think of them, and he was not a 
man to stick at trifles when money was in view. When 
they had reached the edge of the swamp, the stranger 
paused. **What proof have I that all you have been tell- 
ing me is true?" said Tom. ^'There's my signature," said 
the black man, pressing his finger on Tom's foreheado So 
saying, he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, 
and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into 
the earth, until nothing but his head and shoulders could 
be seen, and so on, until he totally disappeared. 

When Tom reached home, he found the black print of 
a finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which noth- 
ing could obliterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden 
death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 
was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that 
*'A great man had fallen in Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had 
just hewn down, and which was ready for burning. **Let 
the freebooter roast," said Tom, "who cares!" He now 
felt convinced that all he had heard and seen was no 
illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; 
but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it 
with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention 
of hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply with 
the black man's terms, and secure what would make them 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 407 

wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do 
so to oblige his wife ; so he flatly refused, out of the mere 
spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quar- 
rels they had on the subject; but the more she talked, the 
more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 

At length she determined to drive the bargain on her 
own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain 
to herself. Being of the same fearless temper as her hus- 
band, she set off for the old Indian fort towards the close * 
of a summer's day. She was many hours absent. When 
she came back, she was reserved and sullen in her replies. 
She spoke something of a black man, whom she had met 
about twilight hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was 
sulky, however, and would not come to terms : she was to 
go again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she 
forebore to say. 

The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with 
her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, 
but In vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her 
appearance: morning, noon, night returned, but still she 
did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, 
especially as he found she had carried off in her apron the 
silver tea-pot and spoons, and every portable article of 
value. Another night elapsed, another morning came; 
but no wife. In a word, she was never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence 
of so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts 
which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 
Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled 
mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough; 
others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with 
the household booty, and made off to some other prov- 



408 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ince ; while others surmised that the tempter Had decoyed 
her into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat 
was found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a 
great black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen 
late that very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying 
a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air of surly 
triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, observes, 
that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his 
wife and his property, that he set out at length to seek 
them both at the Indian fort. During a long summer's 
afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife 
was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she 
was nowhere to be heard. The bittern alone responded 
to his voicCj as he flew screaming by: or the bull-frog 
croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. At length, 
it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, when the 
owls began to hoot, and the bats to flit about, his 
attention was attracted by the clamor of carrion crows 
hovering about a cypress-tree. He looked up, and beheld 
a bundle tied in a check apron, and hanging in the 
branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard 
by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy ; for 
he recognized his wife's apron, and supposed it to contain 
the household valuables. 

*'Let us get hold of the property," said he, consolingly 
to himself, "and we will endeavor to do without the 
woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its 
wide wings, and sailed off, screaming, into the deep shad- 
ows of the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but, 
woful sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up 
In it! 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 409 

Such, according to this most authentic old story, was 
all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had prob- 
ably attempted to deal with the black man as she had 
been accustomed to deal with her husband ; but though a 
female scold is generally considered a match for the devil, 
yet in this instance she appears to have had the worse of 
it. She must have died. game, however; for it said Tom 
noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about 
the tree, and found handfuls of hair, that looked as if 
they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the 
woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by experience. 
He shrugged his shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a 
fierce clapper-clawing. "Egad," said he to himself, 
**01d Scratch must have had a tough time of it!" 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with 
the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He 
even felt something like gratitude towards the black 
woodman, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. 
He sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance 
with him, but for some time without success; the old 
black-legs played shy, for whatever people may think, he 
is not always to be had for calling for: he knows how to 
play his cards when pretty sure of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's 
eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any- 
thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met 
the black man one evening in his usual woodman's dress, 
with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's 
advances with great indifference, made brief replies, and 
went on humming his tune. 

By degrees,^ however, Tom brought him to business, 
and they began to haggle about the terms on which the 



410 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

former was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one 
condition which need not be mentioned, being generally 
understood in all cases where the devil grants favors ; but 
there were others about which, though of less importance, 
he was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money- 
found through his means should be employed in his serv- 
ice. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ 
it in the black traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit 
out a slave-ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused: 
he was bad enough in all conscience ; but the devil him- 
self could not tempt him to turn slave-trader. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not 
insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn 
usurer; the devil being extremely anxious for the increase 
of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people. 

To this no objections were made, for it was just to 
Tom's taste. 

"You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next 
month," said the black man. 

*'I'U do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 

** You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 

"Egad, I'll charge four!" replied Tom Walker. 

"You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the 
merchants to bankruptcy" 

"I'll drive them to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 

"You are the usurer for my money!" said black-legs 
with delight. "When will you want the rhino?" 

"This very night." 

"Done!" said the devil. 

"Done!" said Tom Walker. — So they shook hands and 
struck a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his 
desk in a counting-house in Boston. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 411 

His reputation for a ready -moneyed man, who would 
lend money out for a good consideration, soon spread 
abroad. Everybody remembers the time of Governor 
Belcher,^ when money was particularly scarce. It was a 
time of paper credit. The country had been deluged 
with government bills, the famous Land Bank had been 
established; there had been a rage for speculating; the 
people had run mad with schemes for new settlements; 
for building cities in the wilderness; land-jobbers went 
about with maps of grants, and townships, and Eldorados, 
lying nobody knew where, but which everybody was ready 
to purchase. In a word, the great speculating fever which 
breaks out every now and then in the country, had raged 
to an alarming degree, and everybody was dreaming of 
making sudden fortunes from nothing. As usual the fever 
had subsided ; the dream had gone off, and the imaginary 
fortunes with it; the patients were left in doleful plight, 
and the whole country resounded with the consequent cry 
of '*hard times." 

At this propitious time of public distress did Tom 
Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon 
thronged by customers. The needy and adventurous; the 
gambling speculator; the dreaming land-jobber; the 
thriftless tradesman; the merchant with cracked credit; 
in short, every one driven to raise money by desperate 
means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needv, and 
acted like a "friend in need"; that is to say, he always 
exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to 
the distress of the applicant was the highness of his terms. 
He accumulated bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed 

» Jonathan Belcher was colonial governor of Massachusetts from 1730 to 
1741. The Land Bank was a system by which the province advanced money 
on land mortgages. 



412 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

his customers closer and closer: and sent them at length, 
dry as a sponge, from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand; became a 
rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat npon 
'Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of 
ostentation; but left the greater part of it unfinished and 
unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage 
in the fulness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved 
the horses which drew it; and as the ungreased wheels 
groaned and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have 
thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was 
squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Hav- 
ing secured the good things of this world, he began to feel 
anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret 
on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and 
set his wits to work to cheat him out of the conditionSc 
He became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent church- 
goer. He prayed loudly ard strenuously, as if heaven 
were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might 
always tell when he had sinned most during the ^eek, by 
the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians 
who had been modestly and steadfastly travelling Zionward, 
were struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so sud- 
denly outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. 
Tom was as rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was a 
stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed 
to think every sin entered up to their account became a 
credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of 
the expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and 
Anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious 
as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to formi, 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 413 

Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would 
have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, 
therefore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his 
coat-pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his 
counting-house desk, and would frequently be found 
reading it when people called on business; ,on such 
occasions he would lay his green spectacles in the book, 
to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some 
usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his 
old days, and that, fancying his end approaching, he had 
his horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with 
his feet uppermost ; because he supposed that at the last 
day the world would be turned upside down; in which 
case he should find his horse standing ready for mounting, 
and he was determined at the worst to give his old friend 
a run for it. This, however, is probably a mer^ old wives' 
fable. If he really did take such a precaution, it was 
totally superfluous; at least so says the authentic old 
legend; which closes his story in the following manner. 

One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as a 
terrible black thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his 
counting-house, in his white linen cap and India silk 
morning- gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a 
mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin of an 
unlucky land-speculator for whom he had professed the 
greatest friendship. The poor land-jobber begged him 
to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy 
and irritated, and refused another day. 

**My family will be ruined, and brought upon the par- 
ish," «?aid the land-jobber. ** Charity begins at home," 
replied Tom; *'I must take care of myself in these hard 
times.'' 



4] 4 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

4 

"You have made so mucli money out of me." said the 
speculator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety. **The devil take 
me," said he, *'if I have made a farthing!" 

Just then there were three loud knocks at the street- 
door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black 
man was holding a black horse, which neighed and 
stamped with impatience. 

*^Tom, you're come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. 
Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his little 
Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible 
on the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to 
foreclose: never was sinner taken more unawares. The 
black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave 
the horse the lash, and away he galloped, with Tom on 
his back, in the midst of the thunder-storm. The 
clerks stuck their pens behind their ears, and stared 
after him from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, 
dashing down the streets ; his white cap bobbing up and 
down; his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, and his 
steed striking fire out of the pavement at every bound. 
When the clerks turned to look for the black man, he had 
disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. 
A countryman, who lived on the border of the swamp, 
reported that in the height of the thunder-gust he had 
heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the 
road, and running to the window .caught sight of a figure* 
such as I have described, on a horse that galloped like 
mad across the fields, over the hills, and down into the 
black hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort; and 
that shortly after a thunder-bolt falling in that direction 
seemed to set the whole forest in a blaze. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 415 

The good people of Boston shook their heads and 
shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accus- 
tomed to witches and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in 
all kinds of shapes, from the first settlement of the col- 
ony, that they were not so much horror-struck as might 
have been expected. Trustees were appointed to take 
charge of Tom's effects. There was nothing, however, to 
administer upon. On searching his coffers, all his bonds 
and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place 
of gold and silver, his iron chest was filled with chips and 
shavings; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his 
half -starved horses, and the very next day his great house 
took fire and was burnt to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten 
wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to 
heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very 
hole under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd's money, 
is to be seen to this day ; and the neighboring swamp and 
old Indian fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a 
figure on horseback, in morning-gown and white cap, 
which is doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In 
fact, the story has resolved itelf into a proverb, and is the 
origin of that popular saying, so prevalent throughout 
New England, of "The Devil and Tom Walker." 

Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the purport of 
the tale told by the Cape-Cod whaler. There were divers 
trivial particulars which I have omitted, and which whiled 
away the morning very pleasantly, until the time of tide 
favorable to fishing being passed, it was proposed to land, 
and refresh ourselves under the trees, till the noontide 
heat should have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the island 



416 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of Manhatta, in that shady and embowered tract formerly 
under the domain of the ancient family of the Harden- 
brooks. It was a spot well known to me in the course of 
the aquatic expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from 
where we landed there was an old Dutch family vault, 
constructed in the side of a bank, which had been an 
object of great awe and fable among my schoolboy asso- 
ciates. We had peeped into it during one of our coasting 
voyages, and been startled by the sight of mouldering 
coffins and musty bones within; but what had given it the 
most fearful interest in our eyes, was its being in some 
way connected with the pirate wreck which lay rotting 
among the rocks of Hell-gate. There were stories also of 
smuggling connected with it, particularly relating to, a 
time when this retired spot was owned by a noted burgher, 
called Eeady Money Provost; a man of whom it was 
whispered that he had many mysterious dealings with 
parts beyond the seas. All these things, however, had 
been jumbled together in our minds in that vague way in 
which such themes are mingled up in the tales of boy- 
hood. 

While I was pondering upon these matters, my com- 
panions had spread a repast, from the contents of our 
well-stored pannier, under a broad chestnut, on the green- 
sward which swept down to the water's edge. Here we 
solaced ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the 
warm sunny hours of mid-day. While lolling on the 
grass, indulging in that kind of musing reverie of which I 
am fond, I summoned up the dusky recollections of my 
boyhood respecting this place, and repeated them like the 
imperfectly remembered traces of a dream, for the amuse- 
ment of my companions. When I had finished, a worthy 
old burgher, John Josse Vandermoere, the same who once 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS ^17 

related to me the adventures of Dolph Heyliger/ broke 
silence, and observed, that he recollected a story of 
money-digging, which occurred in this very neighborhood, 
and might account for some of the traditions which I had 
heard in my boyhood. As we knew him to be one of the 
most authentic narrators in the province, we begged him 
to let us have the particulars, and accordingly, while we 
solaced ourselves with a clean long pipe of Blase Moore's 
best tobacco, the authentic John Josse Vandermoere 
related the following tale. 

WOLFERT WEBBER, OE GOLDEN DREAMS 

In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and 
— blank — for I do not remember the precise date; how- 
ever, it was somewhere in the early part of last century, 
there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy 
burgher, Wolfert Webber by name. He was descended 
from old Cobus Webber of the Brill in Holland, one of 
the original settlers, famous for introducing the cultiva- 
tion of cabbages, and who came over to the province during 
the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, otherwise 
called the Dreamer. 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself 
and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, 
who continued in the same line of husbandry, with that 
praiseworthy perseverance" for which our Dutch burghers 
are noted. The whole family genius, during several 
generations, was devoted to the study and development 
of this one noble vegetable; and to this concentration of 
intellect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious renown 
to which the Webber cabbages attained. 

^ An excellent story In BracehridgeHall. 



418 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted suc- 
cession; and never did a line give more unquestionable 
proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the 
looks, as well as the territory of his sire; and had the 
portraits of this line of tranquil potentates been taken, 
they would have presented a row of heads marvellously 
resembling in shape and magnitude the vegetables over 
which they reignedc 

The seat of government continued unchanged in the 
family mansion: — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or 
rather gable end of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with 
the customary iron weathercock at the top. Everything 
about the building bore the air of long-settled ease and 
security. Flights of martins peopled the little coops 
nailed against its walls, and swallows built their nests 
under the eaves; and everyone knows that these house- 
loving birds bring good luck to the dwelling where they 
take up their abode. In a bright summer morning in 
early summer, it was delectable to hear their cheerful 
notes, as they sported about in the pure sweet air, chirp- 
ing forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity of the 
Webbers. , 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family 
vegetate under the shade of a mighty button-wood tree, 
which by little and little grew so great as entirely to over- 
shadow their palace. The city gradually spread its 
suburbs round their domain. Houses sprang up to inter- 
rupt their prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity 
began to grow into the bustle and populousness of streets ; 
m short, with all the habits of rustic life they began to 
nnd themselves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, 
they maintained their hereditary character, and here- 
ditary possessions, with all the tenacity of petty German 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 4X9 

princes in the midst of the empire. Wolfert was the 
last of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench 
at the door, under the family tree, and swayed the scep- 
tre of his fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the midst 
of the metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had 
taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that excellent kind 
called stirring women; that is to say, ^he was one of 
those notable little housewives who are always busy where 
there is nothing to do. Her activity, however, took one 
particular direction: her whole life seemed devoted to 
intense knitting ; whether at home or abroad, walking or 
sitting, her needles were continually in motion, and it is 
even affirmed that by her unwearied industry she very 
nearly supplied her household with stockings throughout 
the year. This worthy couple were blessed with one 
daughter, who was brought up with great tenderness and 
care; uncommon pains had been taken with her educa- 
tion, so that she could stitch in every variety of way; 
make all kinds of pickles and preserves, and mark her 
own name on a sampler. The influence of her taste was 
seen also in the family garden, where the ornamental 
began to mingle with the useful; whole rows of fiery 
marigolds and splendid hollyhocks bordered the cabbage- 
beds ; and gigantic sunflowers lolled their broad jolly faces 
over the fences, seeming to ogle most affectionately the 
passers-by. 

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his 
paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but 
that, like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares 
and vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes 
caused him annoyance. His little territory gradually 
became hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter- 



420 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then subjected 
to the irruptions of the border population that infest the 
streets of a metropolis ; who would make midnight forays 
into his dominions, and carry off captive whole platoons 
of his noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a 
descent, too, now and then, when the gate was left open, 
and lay all waste before them; and mischievous urchins 
would decapitate the illustrious sunflowers, the glory of the 
garden, as they lolled theu' heads so fondly over the walls. 
Still all these were petty grievances, which might now and 
then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a summer breeze will 
ruffle the surface of a millpond; but they could not dis- 
turb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. He would but 
seize a trusty staff, that stood behind the door, issue sud- 
denly out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, whether 
pig or urchin, and then return within doors, marvellously 
refreshed and tranquillized. 

The chief cause of anxiety to honest WoHert, however, 
was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of 
living doubled and trebled; but he cpuld not double and 
treble the magnitude of his cabbages ; and the number of 
competitors prevented the increase of price ; thus, there- 
fore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert 
grew poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, per- 
ceive how the evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day to day, 
had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher; inso- 
much, that it at length implanted two or three wrinkles 
in his brow; things unknown before in the family of the 
Webbers ; and it seemed to pinch up the corners of his 
cocked hat into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite 
to the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers of 
his illustrious progenitors. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 4-21 

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed 
the serenity of his mind, had he had only himself and his 
wife to care for ; but there was his daughter gradually 
growing to maturity; and all the world knows that when 
daughters begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so 
much looking after. I have no talent at describing female 
charms, else fain would I depict the progress of this lit- 
tle Dutch beauty. How her blue eyes grew deeper and 
deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder; and how 
she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded in 
the opening breath of sixteen summers, until, in her sev- 
enteenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her 
bodice, like a half-blown rosebud. 

Ah, well-a-day! could I but show her as she was then, 
tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary 
finery of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother 
had confided to her the key. The wedding-dress of her 
grandmother, modernized for use, with sundry orna- 
ments, handed down as heirlooms in the family. Her 
pale brown hair smoothed with buttermilk in flat waving 
lines on each side of her fair forehead. The chain of yel- 
low virgin gold, that encircled her neck: the little cross, 
that just rested at the entrance of a soft valley of happi- 
ness, as if it would sanctify the place^ "The — but, 
pooh ! — it is not for an old man like me to be prosing 
about female beauty; suffice it to say, Amy had attained 
her seventeenth year. Long since had her sampler exhib- 
ited hearts in couples desperately transfixed with arrows, 
and true lovers' knots worked in deep blue silk; audit 
was evident she began to languish for some more interest- 
ing occupation than the rearing of sunflowers or pickling 
of cucumberSe 

At this critical period of female existence, when the 



422 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the minia- 
ture ^hich hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a 
single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance 
under the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Wal- 
dron, the only son of a poor widow, but who could boast 
of more fathers than any lad in the province; for his 
mother had had four husbands, and this only child; so 
that though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly claim 
to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation. This 
son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor of all 
his sires. If he had not had a great family before him, 
he seemed likely to have a great one after him; for you 
had only to look at the fresh buck some youth, to see that 
he was formed to be the founder of a mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of 
the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled 
the father's pipe when it was empty, gathered up the 
mother's knitting-needle, or ball of worsted when it fell 
to the ground ; stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell 
cat, and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from the 
bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. All these 
quiet little offices may seem of trifling import ; but when 
true love is translated into Low Dutch, it is in this way 
that it eloquently expresses itself. They were not lost 
upon the Webber family. The winning youngster found 
marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother; the tortoise- 
shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure of her kind, 
gave indubitable signs of approbation of his visits; the 
tea-kettle seemed to sing out a cheering note of welcome 
at his approach ; and if the sly glances of the daughter 
might be rightly read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, and 
sewing by her mother's side, she was not a whit behind 
Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea-kettle, in good-will. 



WOLIERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 423 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Pro- 
foundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the eity 
and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing 
his pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle 
Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover to the outer 
door, and he, according to custom, took his parting salute^ 
the smack respunded so vigorously through the long, 
silent entry, as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. 
He was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had 
never entered into his head that this mere child, who, as 
it seemed, but the other day had been climbing about his 
knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could all 
at once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He rubbed 
his eyes, examined into the fact, and really found that, 
while he had been dreaming of other matters, she had 
actually grown to be a woman, and what was worse, had 
fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. He 
was a kind father, but he was a prudent man. The young 
man was a lively, stirring lad ; but then he had neither 
money nor land. Wolfert 's ideas all ran in one channel ; 
and he saw no alternative in case of a marriage but to 
portion off the young couple with n corner of his cabbage- 
garden, the whole of which was barely sufficient for the 
support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip 
this passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the 
house ; though sorely did it go against his fatherly hearty 
and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of 
his daughter. She showed herself, however, a pattern of 
filial piety and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; 
she never flew in the face of parental authority, she 
never flew into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as many 
romantic novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, 



424 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

indeed! She was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, 
I'll warrant ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like an 
obedient daughter, shut the street-door in her lover's face, 
and if ever she did grant him an interview, it was either 
out of the kitchen-window, or over the garden-fence. 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his 
mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he 
wended his way on Saturday afternoon to the rural inn, 
about two miles from the city. It was a favorite resort of 
the Dutch part of the community, from being always held 
by a Dutch line of landlords, and retaining an air and 
relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch-built house, 
that had probably been a country seat of some opulent 
burgher in the early time of the settlement. It stood near 
a point of land called Corlear's Hook, ^ which stretches out 
into the Sound, and against which the tide, at its flux 
and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The vener- 
able and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished from 
afar by a grove of elms and sycamores that seemed to wave 
a hospitable invitation, while a few weeping willows, with 
their dank, drooping foliage, resembling falling waters, 
gave an idea of coolness, that rendered it an attractive 
spot during the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old 
inhabitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played 
at shuffle-board and quoits arid ninepins, others smoked 
a deliberate pipe, and talked over public affairs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wol- 
fert made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and 
willows was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rus- 
tling eddies about the fields. The ninepin alley was 

» The ?)lace still retains its name ; It is on the East Rivei* about the foot 
ef Grand Street. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 425 

deserted, for the premature chilliness of the day had 
driven the company within doors. As it was Saturday 
afternoon, the habitual club was in session, composed 
principally of regular Dutch burghers, though mingled 
occasionally with persons of various character and coun- 
try, as is natural in a place of such motley population. 

Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed arm- 
chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable 
Eem, or, as it was pronounced, Ramm Eapelye. He was 
a man of Walloon ^ race, and illustrious for the antiquity 
of his line: his great-grandmother having been the first 
white child born in the province. But he was still more 
illustrious for his wealth and dignity: he had long'filled 
the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the 
governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained 
possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time 
immemorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat 
in his seat of government, until in the course of years he 
filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with 
his subjects ; for he was so rich a man that he was never 
expected to support any opinion by argument. The land- 
lord waited on him with 'peculiar officiousness; not that 
he paid better than his neighbors, but then the coin of a 
rich man seems always to be so much more acceptable. 
The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to 
insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. It is true, 
Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, ever maintained a 
mastiff -like gravity, and even surliness of aspect ; yet he 
now and then rewarded mine host with a token of appro- 
bation ; which, though nothing more nor less than a kind 



» A people of Belgian race. The first-born Christian in New Netherland 
was Sarah Rapaelje or Rapelye, daughter of Jan Joris Rapaelje, born June 
9, 1625. The family name still survives in New York. 



426 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of grunt, still delighted the landlord more than a broad 
laugh from a poorer man. 

"This will be a rough night for the money- diggers," 
said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the bouse, 
and rattled at the windows. 

"What! are they at their works again?" said an English 
half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very frequent 
attendant at the inn. 

"Aye, are they," said the landlord, "and well may they 
be. They've had luck of late. Theysay a great pot of 
money has loeen dug up in the fieldsfjus^hehind Stuyve- 
sant's orchard. Folks think it must have been buried 
there in old times, by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch gov- 
ernor." 

"Fudge!" said the one-eyed man of war, as he added a 
small portion of water to a bottom of brandy. 

"Well, you may believe it or not, as you please," said 
mine host, somewhat nettled; "but everybody knows that 
the old governor buried a great deal of his money at the 
time of the Dutch troubles, when the English red-coats 
seized on the province. They say, too, the old gentleman 
walks; aye, and in the very same dress that he wears in 
the picture that hangs up in the family house." 

"Fudge!" said the half -pay officer. 

"Fudge, if you please! — But didn't Corney Van Zandt 
see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with 
Ms wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that 
flashed like fire? And what can he be walking for, but 
because people have been troubling the place where he 
buried his money in old times?" 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural 
sounds from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was 
laboring with the unusual production of an idea. As he 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 427 

was too great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican, 
mine host respectfully paused until he should deliver him- 
self. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now 
gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the point 
of an eruption. First, there was a certain heaving of the 
abdomen, not unlike an earthquake ; then was emitted a 
clou d of tobacco-smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then 
there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea were 
working its way up through a region of phlegm; then 
there were several disjointed members of a sentence thrown 
out, ending in a cough; at length his voice forced its way 
into a slow, but absolute tone of a man who feels the 
weight of his purse, if not of his ideas ; every portion of 
his speech being marked by a festy puff of tobacco- 
smoke. 

"Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking?— puff — 
Have people no respect for persons? — puff — puff — Peter 
Stuyvesant knew better what to do with his money than 
to bury it— puff— I know the Stuyvesant family—puff— 
every one of them — puff — ^ot a more respectable family in 
the province — puff — old standards — puff — warm house- 
holders—puff—none of your upstarts— puff— puff— puff. 
— Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant 's walking — puff — 
puff— puff— puff . " 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, 
clasped up his mouth, till it wrinkled at each corner, and 
redoubled his smoking with such vehemence, that the 
cloudy volume soon wreathed round his head, as the 
smoke envelops the awful summit of Mount ^tna. 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this 
very rich man. The subject, however, was too interest- 
ing to be readily abandoned. The conversation soon 
broke forth again from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van 



428 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Hook, the chronicler of the club, one of those prosing, 
narrative old men who seem to be troubled with an incon- 
tinence of words, as they grow old. 

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an 
evening as his hearers could digest in a month. He now 
resumed the conversation, by affirming that, to his knowl- 
edge, money had, at different times, been digged up in 
various parts of the island. The lucky persons who had 
discovered them had always dreamt of them three times 
beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, those treas- 
ures had never been found but by some descendant of the 
good old Dutch families, which clearly proved that they 
had been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time. 

"Fiddlestick with yOur Dutchmen!" cried the half -pay 
officer. "The Dutch had nothing to do with them. 
They were all buried by Kidd the pirate, and his crew." 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole 
company. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talisman 
in those times, and was associated with a thousand mar- 
vellous stories. 

The half -pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations 
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderiugs and exploits of 
Morgan,^ Blackbeard, and the whole list of bloody buc- 
caneers. 

The officer was a man of great weight among the peace- 
able members of the club, by reason of his warlike char- 
acter and gunpowder tales. All his golden stories of 
Kidd, however, and of the booty he had buried, were 
obstinately rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, 
rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by 
a foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore in the 

1 A Welsh buccanneer of the 17th century. " Blackbeard " was the nick 
name of Edward Teach, an English pirate of the 18th century. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 429 

neighborhood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuyvesant 
and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert 
Webber. He returned pensively home, full of magnificent 
ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be turned* 
into gold dust; and every field to teem with treasure. 
His head almost reeled at the thought how often he must 
have heedlessly rambled over places where countless sums 
lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath his feet. His 
mind was in an uproar with this whirl of new ideas. As 
he came in sight of the venerable mansion of his fore- 
fathers, and the little realm where the Webbers liad so 
long, and so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the 
narrowness of his destiny. 

**UnlucI:y Wolfert!'* exclaimed he; ** others can go to 
bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth ; 
they have but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn 
up doubloons^ like potatoes; but thou must dream of hard- 
ships, and rise to poverty, — must dig thy field from year's 
end to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cabbages!'* 

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart ; and 
it was long before the golden visions that disturbed his 
brain permitted him to sink into repose. The same 
visions, however, extended into his sleeping thoughts, and 
assumed a more definite form. He dreamt that he had 
discovered an immense treasure in the centre of his gar- 
den. At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a golden 
ingot; diamond crosses sparkled out of the dust; bags of 
money turned up their bellies, corpulent with pieces-of- 
eight, or venerable doubloons; and chests, wedged close 

1 A Spanish coin worth about sixteen dollars. The piece of eight (see 
below) is the Spanish piaster, about equivalent in value to one dollar; 
moidores are Portuguese coins worth between six and seven dollars; 
uhe pistareen is a Spanish coin worth about eighteen cents. 



430 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

with moidoresj ducats, and pistareens, yawned before his 
ravished eyes, and vomited forth their glittering contents. 

Wolfert awoko a poorer man than ever. He had no 
heart to go about l^is daily concerns, which appeared so 
paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney- 
corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in 
the fire. The next night his dream was repeated. He 
was again in his garden, digging, ttnd laying open stores 
of hidden wealth. There was something very singular in 
this repetition. He passed another day of reverie, and 
though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as usual in 
Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat 
unmoved amidst the general nproar. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart. 
He put on his red night-cap wrongside outwards, for good 
luck. It was deep midnight before his anxious mind 
could settle itself into sleep. Again the golden dream 
was repeated, and again he saw his garden teeming with 
ingots and money-bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilder- 
ment. A dream, three times repeated, was never known 
to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind 
part before, and this was a corroboration of good luck. 
He no longer doubted that a huge store of money lay 
buried somewhere in his cabbage-field, coyly waiting to be 
sought for; and he repined at having so long been scratch- 
ing about the surface of the soil instead of digging to the 
centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these 
speculations; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold 
into his tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slapjacks, 
begged her to Help herself to a doubloon. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 431 

His grand care now was how to secure this immense 
treasure without its being known. Instead of his work- 
ing regularly in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole 
from his bed at night, and with spade and pickaxe went 
to work to rip up and dig about his paternal acres, from 
one end to the other. In a little time the whole garden, 
which had presented such a goodly and regular appear- 
ance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army 
in battle array, was reduced to a scene of devastation; 
while the relentless Wolfert, with night-cap on head, and 
lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the slaugh- 
tered ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable 
world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the 
preceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, 
from the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously 
rooted from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and 
left to wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife 
remonstrated; in vain his darling daughter wept over the 
destruction of some favorite marigold. "Thou shalt 
have gold of another guess sort," ^ he would cry, chucking 
her under the chin; "thou shalt have a string of crooked 
ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child." His family 
began really to fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. 
He muttered in his sleep at night about mines of wealth, 
about pearls and diamonds, and bars of gold. In the day- 
time he was moody and abstracted, and walked about as if 
in a trance. Dame Webber held frequent councils with 
all the old women of the neighborhood ; scarce an hour 
in the day but a knot of them might be seen wagging 
their white caps together round her door, while the poor 



^ Of a very different kind; the phrase is a corruption of ♦• another gates," 
in which "gates" is an adverbial form of "gate, " meaning "way" or "sort." 



432 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

woman made some piteous recitaL The daughter, too, 
was fain to seek for more frequent consolation from the 
stolen interviews of her favored swain, Dirk Waldron. 
The delectable little Dutch songs, with which she used to 
dulcify the house, grew less and less frequent, and she 
would forget her sewing, and look wistfully in her father's 
face as he sat pondering by the fireside. Wolfert caught 
her eye one day fixed on him thus anxiously, and for a 
moment was roused from his golden reveries. — "Cheer up, 
my girl," said he, exultingly; "why dost thou droop? — 
thou shalt hold up thy head one day with the Brincker- 
hoffs and the Schermerhorns, the Van Homes, and the 
Van Dams. By Saint Nicholas, but the patroon ^ him- 
self shall be glad to get thee for his son!" 

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and was 
more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the good 
man's intellect. 

In the meantime Wolf ert went on digging and digging ; 
but the field was extensive, and as his dream had indicated 
no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The winter set in 
before one-tenth of the scene of promise had been explored. 

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too cold 
for the labors of the spade. 

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring 
loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the 
meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with renovated 
zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry were reversed. 

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and set- 
ting out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, 
until the shades of night summoned him to his secret 
labors. In this way he continued to dig from night to 

iTo every organizer who established a colony in New Netherland there 
was given, beside a large grant of land and certain feudal rights, the offiei^ 
title of patroon. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 433 

night, and week to week, and month to month, but not 
a stiver^ did he find. On the contrary, the more he dig- 
• ged, the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was 
digged away, and the sand and gravel from beneath was 
thrown to the surface, until the whole field presented an 
aspect of sandy barrenness. . » 

In the meantime, the seasons gradually rolled on. The 
little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early 
spring, croaked as bull-frogs during the summer heats, 
and then sank into silence. The peach-tree budded, 
blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins 
came, twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared their 
young, held their congress along the eaves, and then 
winged their flight in search of another spring. The 
caterpillar spun its winding- sheet, dangled in it from the 
great button -wood tree before the house; turned into a 
moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, and 
disappeared; and finally the leaves of the button-wood 
ij tree turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one 
to the ground, and whirling about in little eddies of wind 
and dust, whispered that winter was at hand. 

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as 
the year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply 
of his household during the sterility of winter. The 
season was long and severe, and for the first time the 
family was really straitened in its comforts. By degrees 
a revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert 's mind, 
common to those whose golden dreams have been dis- 
turbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole 
upon him that he should come to want. He already con- 
sidered himself one of the most unfortunate men in the 
province, having lost such an incalculable amount of 

1 A Dutch coin of very smaU value. 



43(4 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

undiscovered treasure, and now, when thousands of 
pounds had eluded his search, io be perplexed for shillings 
and pence, was cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow; he went about 
with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downwards into 
the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men 
are apt to do when they have nothing else to put into 
them. He could not even pass the city almshouse with- 
out giving it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his future 
abode. 

. The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occa- 
sioned much speculation and remark. For a long time he 
was suspected of being crazy, and then everybody pitied 
him ; and at length it began to be suspected that he was 
poor, and then everybody avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him out- 
side of the door when he called, entertained him hos- 
pitably on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand 
at parting, shook their heads as he walked away, with the 
kind-hearted expression of **poor Wolfert," and turned a 
corner nimbly if by chance they saw him approaching as 
they walked the streets. Even the barber and the cob- 
bler of the neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley 
hard by, three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the 
world, eyed him with that abundant sympathy which 
usually attends a lack of means ; and there is not a doubt 
but their pockets would have been at his command, only 
that they happened to be empty. 

Thus everybody deserted the Webber mansion, as if 
poverty were contagious, like the plague ; everybody but 
honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen visits 
to the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more affection- 
ate as the fortunes of his mistress were in the wane 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 435 

Many months had. elapsed since Wolfert had frequented 
his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long lonely 
walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and 
disappointments, when his feet took instinctively their 
wonted direction, and on awaking out of a reverie, he 
found himself before the door of the inn. For some 
moments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart 
yearned for companionship ; and where can a ruined man 
find better companionship than at a tavern, where there 
is neither sober example nor sober advice to put him out 
of countenance? 

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the 
inn at their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; 
but one was missing, the great Eamm Eapelye, who for 
many years had filled the leather-bottomed chair of state. 
His place was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, how- 
ever, completely at home in the chair and the tavern. He 
was rather under size, but deep-chested, square, and mus- 
cular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow knees, 
gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was dark 
and weather-beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of 
a cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made a gash 
in his upper lip, through which his teeth shone like a 
bull-dog's. A mop of iron-gray hair gave a grisly finish 
to this hard-favored visage. His dress was of an amphib- 
ious character. He wore an old hat edged with tarnished 
lace, and cocked in martial style, on one side of his head; 
a rusty blue military coat with brass buttons, and a wide 
pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather breeches, for 
they were gathered up at the knees. He ordered every- 
body about him with an authoritative air; talking in a 
brattling voice, that sounded like the crackling of thorns 
under a pot ; d d the landlord and servants with per- 



4:36 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

feet impunity, and was waited upon with greater obse- 
quiousness than had ever been shown to the mighty Ramm 
himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who and 
what was this stranger who had thus usurped absolute 
sway in this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him 
aside, into a i-emote corner of the hall, and there, in an 
under voice, and with great caution, imparted to him all 
that he knew on the subject. The inn had been aroused 
several months before, on a dark stormy night, by repeated 
long shouts, that seemed like the bowlings of a wolf. 
They came from the water-side, and at length were distin- 
guished to be hailing the house in the sea-faring manner, 
**House-a-hoy!" The landlord turned out with his head 
waiter, tapster, b ostler, and errand-boy, — that is to say, 
with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the place 
whence the voice proceeded, they found this amphibious- 
looking personage at the water's edge, quite alone, and 
seated on a great oaken sea-chest. How he came there, 
whether he had been set on shore from some boat, or had 
floated to land on his chest, nobody could tell, for he did 
not seem disposed to answer questions; and there was 
something in his looks and manners that put a stop to all 
questioning. Suffice it to say, he took possession of a 
corner-room of the inn, to which his chest was removed 
with great difficulty. Here he had remained ever sinc^, 
keeping about the inn and its vicinity. Sometimes, it is 
true, he disappeared for one, two, or three days at a time, 
going and returning without giving any notice or account 
of his movements. He always appeared to have plenty of 
money, though often of very strange outlandish coinage; 
and he regularly paid his bill every evening before turn- 
ing in. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 437 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having 
slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and 
decorated the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of for- 
eign workmanship. A greater part of his time was passed 
in this room, seated by the window, which commanded a 
wide view of the Sound, a short old-fashioned pipe in his 
mouth, a glass of rnm-toddy at his elbow, and a pocket- 
telescope in his hand, with which he reconnoitred every 
boat that moved upon the water. Large square-rigge(^ 
vessels seemed to excite but little attention; but th^ 
moment he descried anything with a shoulder- of -muttoii 
sail, or that a barge, or yawl, or jolly-boat hove in sight, 
up went the telescope, and he examined it with the most 
scrupulous attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, for iki* 
those times the province was so much the resort ol 
adventurers of all characters and climes, that any oddity 
in dress or behavior attracted but small attention. In a 
little while, however, this strange sea-monster, thus 
strangely cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the 
long-established customs and customers of the place, and 
to interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs of the 
ninepin alley and the bar-room,- until in the end he 
usurped an absolute command over the whole inn. It 
was all in vain to attempt to withstand hi^ authority. 
He was not exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and per- 
emptory, like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quarter- 
deck ; and there was a dare-devil air about everything he 
said and did, that inspired wariness in all bystanders. 
Even the half -pay ofiBcer, so long the hero of the club, 
was soon silenced by him ; and the quiet burghers stared 
with wonder at seeing their inflammable man of war so 
readily and quietly extinguished. 



4:38 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

And then the tales that he would tell were enough tp 
make a peaceable man's hair stand on end. There was 
not a sea-fight, nor marauding nor freebooting adventure 
that had happened within the last twenty years, but he 
seemed perfectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the 
exploits of the buccaneers in the West Indies, and on the 
Spanish Main.^ How his eyes would glisten as he described 
the waylaj'ing of treasure-ships, the desperate fights, yard- 
arm and yard-arm — broadside and broadside — the boarding 
and capturing huge Spanish galleons! With what chuc- 
kling relish would he describe the descent upon some rich 
Spanish colony ; the rifling of a church ; the sacking of a 
convent! You would have thought you heard some 
gormandizer dilating upon the roasting of a savory goose at 
Michaelmas^ as he described the roasting of some Spanish 
Don to make him discover his treasure, — a detail given 
with a minuteness that made every rich* old burgher 
present turn uncomfortable in his chair. All this would 
be told with infinite glee, as if he considered it an excel- 
lent joke; and then he would give such a tyrannical leer 
in the face of his next neighbor, that the poor man would 
be fain to laugh out of sheer faintheartedness. If any 
one, however, pretended to contradict him in any of his 
stories, he was on fire in an instant. His very cocked hat 
assumed a momentary fierceness, and seemed to resent the 
contradiction. '*How the devil should you know as well 
as I? — I tell you it was as I say;" and he would at the 
same time let slip a broadside of thundering oaths and 
tremendous sea-phrases, such as had never been heard 
before within these peaceful walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he 

1 The northern coast of South America. 
» The feast of St." Michael, September 29th. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 439 

knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after 
day their conjectures concerning him grew more and more 
wild and fearful. The strangeness of his arrival, the 
strangeness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded 
him, all made him something incomprehensible in their 
eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to them — he 
was a merman — he was a behemoth — he was a leviathan 
— in short, they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin at 
length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of 
persons; he contradicted the richest burghers without 
hesitation; he took possession of the sacred elbow-chair, 
which, time out of mind, had been the seat of sovereignty 
of the illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, he even went so 
far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as to slap that 
mighty burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink 
in his face, a thing scarcely to be believed. From this 
time Eamm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn ; his 
example was followed by several of the most eminent cus- 
tomers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of 
their opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another man's 
jokes. The landlord was almost in despair ; but he knew 
not how to get rid of this sea-monster and his sea-chest, 
who seemed both to have grown like fixtures, or excres- 
cences, on his establishment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's 
ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by 
the button in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance 
now and then towards the door of the bar-room, lest he 
should be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in 
silence ; impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so 
versed in freebooting history. It was to him a wonder- 



440 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ful instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find 
the venerable Kamm Rapelye thus ousted from the 
throne, and a rugged tarpaulin dictating from his elbow- 
chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil 
little realm with brawl and bravado. 

The stranger was on this evening in a more than usually 
communicative mood, and was narrating a number of 
astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the 
high seas. He dwelt upqn them with peculiar relish, 
heightening the frightful particulars in proportion to their 
effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swaggering 
detail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. She 
was lying becalmed during a long summer's day, just off 
from the island which was one of the lurking-places of the 
pirates. They had reconnoitred her with, their spy- 
glasses from the shore, and ascertained her character and 
force. At night a picked crew of daring fellows set off 
for her in a whale-boat. They approached with muffled 
oars, as she lay rocking idly with the undulations of 
the sea, and her sails flapping against the masts. They 
were close under the stern before the guard on deck was 
aware of their approach. The alarm was given; the 
pirates threw hand-grenades on deck, and sprang up the 
main chains, sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion; some 
were shot down, others took refuge in the tops ; others 
were driven overboard and drowned, while others fought 
hand to hand from the main-deck to the quarter-deck, 
disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were 
three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who 
made the most desperate resistance. They defended the 
companion-way, cut down several of their assailants, and 
fotight like very devils, for they were maddened by the 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 441 

shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons 
was old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their 
ground vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout 
of victory from the main-deck. *'The ship is ours!" cried 
the pirates. , * 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and 
surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, 
and just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that 
laid all open. The captain Just made out to articulate 
the words "no quarter." 

*'And what did they do with their prisoners?" said 
Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 

"Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A dead 
pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sunk quietly 
back, like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair 
of a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful 
glances at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the 
stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther off. The 
seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle, 
as though he either did not perceive or did not regard the 
unfavorable effect he had produced upon his hearers. 

The half -pay officer was the first to break the silence ; 
for he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head 
against this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost con- 
sequence in the eyes of his ancient companions. He now 
tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger by 
others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, 
concerning whom he seemed to have picked up many of 
the floating traditions of the province. The seaman had 
always evinced a settled pique against the one-eyed war- 
rior. On this occasion he listened with peculiar impa- 
tience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the other elbow on 



442 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he was 
pettishly puffing; his legs crossed; drumming with one 
foot on the ground, and casting every now and then the 
side-glance of a basilisk at the prosing captain. At length 
the latter spoke of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson 
with some of his crew to land his plunder in secrecy. 

**Kidd up the Hudson!" burst forth the seaman, with 
a tremendous oath. — *'Kidd never was up the Hudson!" 

"I tell you he was," said the other. "Aye, and they 
say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat that 
runs out into the river, called the Devil's Dans Kammer." 

"The Devil's Pans Kammer in your teeth!" cried the 
seaman. "I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. 
What a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts?" 

"What do I know?" echoed the half -pay officer. "Why, 
I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, and I had 
khe pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution Dock." 

"Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fel- 
iow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Aye!" putting his 
face nearer to that of the officer, "and there was many a 
land-lubber looked on that might much better have swung 
in his stead." 

The half -pay officer was silenced; but the indignation 
thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence 
in his single eye, which kindled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed 
that the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd never 
did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any of those 
parts, though many affirmed such to be the fact. It was 
Bradish^ and others of the buccaneers who had buried 
money*; some said in Turtle Bay,^ others on Long Island, 

» A pirate of the time of Kidd. 
•In East River, below HeU-gate. 



WOLFERT WEBBER. OR GOLDE>i DREAMS 443 

others in the neighborhood of Hell -gate. Indeed, added 
he, I recollect an adventure of Sam, the negro fisherman, 
many years ago, which some think had something to do 
with the buccaneerSo As we are all friends here, and as 
it will go no further, I'll tell it to you. 

^* Upon 'a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was 
returning from fishing in Hell-gate" — 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sndden move- 
ment from the unknown, who laying his iron fist on 
the table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that 
indented the very boards, and looking grimly over his 
shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear,— ^'Heark'ee, 
neighbor," said he, with significant nodding of the head, 
"you'd better let the buccaneers and their money alone, — 
they're not for old men and old women to meddle with. 
They fought hard for their money; they gave body and 
soul for it ; and wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he 
must have a tug with the devil who gets it!" 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence 
throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within him- 
self, and even the one-eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, 
who from a dark corner of the room had listened with 
intense eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, 
looked with mingled awe and reverence at this bold buc- 
caneer; for such he really suspected him to be. There 
was a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his 
stories about the Spanish Main that gave a value to every 
period; and Wolfert would have given anything for the 
rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his imagina- 
tion crammed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, and jolly 
round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company 
was at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out 



444 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

a prodigious watch of curious and ancient workmanship, 
and which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. 
On touching a spring it struck ten o'clock; upon which 
the sailor called for his reckoning, and having paid it out 
of a handful of outlandish coin, he drank off the remain- 
der of his beverage, and without taking leave of any one, 
rolled out of the room, muttering to himself, as he 
stamped up-stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could recover from 
the silence into which they had been thrown. The very 
footsteps of the stranger, which were heard now and then 
as he traversed his chamber, inspired awe. 

Still the coQversation in wliich they had been engaged 
was too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder- 
gust had gathered up unnoticed, while they were lost in 
talk, and the torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts 
of setting off for home until the storm should subside. 
They drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the 
worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which had been 
so discourteously interrupted. He readily complied, 
whispering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath, 
and drowned occasionally by the rolling of the thunder; 
and he would pause every now and then, and listen with 
evident awe, as he heard the heavy footsteps of the 
stranger pacing overhead. 

The following is the purport of his story : 

ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 

Everybody knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman, 
or, as he is commonly called. Mud Sam, who has fished 
about the SfJund for the last half century. It is now 
many years since Sam, who was then as active a young 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 445 

negro as any in the province, and worked on the farm of 
Killian Suydam on Long Island, having finished his day's 
work at an early hour, was fishing, one still summer even- 
ing. Just about the neighborhood of Hell-gate. 

He was in a light skiff; and being well acquainted with 
the currents and eddies, had shifted his station according 
to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen a,nd Chickens to 
the Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot and 
from the Pot to the Frying-Pan; but in the eagerness of 
his sport he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing 
until the roaring of the whirlpools and eddies warned hiin 
of his danger; and he had some difficulty in shooting his 
skiff from among the rocks and breakers, and getting to 
the point of Blackwell 's Island. Here he cast anchor for 
some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to 
return homewards. As the night set in, it grew bluster- 
ing and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in the 
west; and now and then a growl of thunder or a flash of 
lightning told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam 
pulled over, therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, 
and coasting along, came to a snug nook. Just under a 
steep beetling rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root 
of a tree that shot out from a cleft, and spread its broad 
branches like a canopy over the water. . The gust came 
scouring along; the wind threw up the river in whitp 
surges; the rain rattled among the leaves; the thunder 
bellowed worse than that which is now bellowing; the 
lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the stream; but 
Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay crouching 
in his skiff, rocking upon the billows until he fell asleep. 
When he woke all was quiet. The gust had passed away, 
and only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in the 
east showed which way it had gone. TbA night was dark 



446 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and moonless; and from the state of the tide Sam con« 
eluded it was near midnight. He was on the point of 
making loose his skiff to return homewards, when he saw 
a light gltiaming along the water from a distance, which 
seemed rapidly approaching. As it drew near he perceived 
it came from a lantern in the how of a hoat gliding along 
under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small cove, 
close to where he was. A man jumped on shore, and 
searching ahout with the lantern, exclaimed, *'This is th^ 
place — here's the iron ring." The boat was then made 
fast, and the man returning on board, assisted his com- 
rades in conveying something heavy on shore. As the light 
gleamed, among them, Sam saw that they were five stout 
desperate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps, with a 
leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of them 
were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. They 
talked low to one another, and occasionally in some out- 
landish tongue which he could not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushes, 
taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their burden 
up the rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused ; 
so leaving his skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that 
overlooked their path. They had stopped to rest for a 
moment, and the leader was looking about among the 
bushes with his lantern. *'Have you brought the spades?" 
said one. "They are here," replied another, who had 
them on his shoulder, "We must dig deep, where there 
will be no risk of discovery," said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he 
saw before him a gang of murderers, about to bury their 
victim. His knees smote together. In his agitation he 
shook the branch of a tree with which he was supporting 
himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 447 

** What's that?" cried one of the gang. — '*Some one 
stirs among the bushes ! ' ' 

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. 
One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it 
towards the very place where Sam was standing. He 
stood motionless — breathless; expecting the next moment 
to be his last. Fortunately his dingy complexion was in 
his favor, and made no glare among the leaves. 

'.' 'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. **What 
a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm 
the country!" 

The pistol was uncocked ; the burden was resumed, and 
the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched 
them as they went; the light sending back fitful gleams 
through the dripping bushes, and it was not till they 
were fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath 
freely. He now thought of getting back to his boat, and 
making his escape out of the reach of such dangerous 
neighbors ; but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesitated 
and lingered and listened. By and by he heard the strokes 
of spades, — *Hhey are digging the grave!" said he to him- 
self; and the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every 
stroke of a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, 
went to his heart ; it was evident there was as little noise 
made as possible; everything had an air of terrible mys- 
tery and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible, 
— a tale of murder was a treat for him ; and he was a con- 
stant attendant at executions. He could not resist an 
impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer to the 
scene of mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows at 
their work. He crawled along cautiously, therefore, inch 
by inch ; stepping with the utmost care among the dry 
leaves, lest their rustling should betray him He came 



448 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

at length to where a steep ,rock intervened between him 
and the gang; for he saw the light of their lantern shining 
up against the branches of the trees on the other side. 
Sam slowly and silently clambered up the surface of the 
rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld 
the villains immediately below him, and so near, that 
though he dreaded discovery, he dared not withdraw lest 
the least movement should be heard. In this way he 
remained, with his round black face peering above the 
edge of the rock, like the sun just emerging above the edge 
of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon on the dial of 
a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work; the grave 
was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf. 
This done, they scattered dry leaves over the place. 
**And now," said the leader, *'I defy the devil himself to 
find it out." 

**The murderers!" exclaimed Sam, involuntarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the 
round black head of Sam just above them. His white 
eyes strained half out of their orbits; his white teeth 
chattering, and his wliole visage shining with cold per- 
spiration. 

*' We're discovered!" cried one. 

"Down with him!" cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause 
for the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, 
through brash and brier; rolled down banks like a hedge- 
hog; scrambled up others like a catamount. In every 
direction he heard some one or other of the gang hemming 
him in. At length he reached the rocky ridge along the 
river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. A steep 
vock like a wall rose directly in his way ; it seemed to cut 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 449 

off all retreat, when fortunately he espied the strong 
cord-like branch of a grape-vine reaching half way down 
it. He sprang at it with the force of a desperate man, 
seized it with both hands, and being yonng and agile, suc- 
ceeded in swinging himself to the summit of the cliff. 
Here he stood in full relief against the sky, when the 
red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by 
Sam's head. With the lucky thought of a man in an 
emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and 
detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, which 
tumbled with a loud splash into the river. 

"I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or two 
of his comrades as they arrived panting. ** He'll tell no 
tales, except to the fishes in the river." 

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. 
Sam, sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let 
himself quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and 
abandoned himself to the rapid current, which in that 
place runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept him off from 
the neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had 
drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply his oars, 
when he made his skiff dart like an arrow through the 
strait of Hell-gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, 
Frying-Pan, nor Hog's Back itself: nor did he feel 
himself thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed- 
in the cockloft of the- ancient farm-house of the 
Suydains. 

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, 
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his. 
elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths and 
outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for ans 
additional mouthful, 

**And is that all?" exclaimed the half -pay officer. '' 



450 TALES 01^ A TRAVELLER 

*' That's all that belongs to the story," said Peeohy 
Prauw. 

*'And did Sam never find out what was buried by the 
red-caps?" said Wolfert, eagerly, whose mind was haunted 
by nothing but ingots and doubloons. 

**Not that I know of," said Peechy; *'he had no time 
to spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not 
like 'to run the risk of another race among the rocks. 
Besides, how should he recollect the spot where the grave 
had been digged? everything would look so different by 
daylight. And then, where was the use of looking for a 
dead body, when there was no chance of hanging the mur- 
derers?" 

'*Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried?" 
said Wolfert. 

'*To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. **Does 
it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day?" 

'* Haunts!" exclaimed several of the party, opening their 
eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. 

**Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy; "have none of you 
heard of father Red-cap, who haunts the old burnt farm- 
house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near 
Hell-gate?" 

'*0h, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the 
kind, but then I took it for some old wives' fable." 

**01d wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, **that 
farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's been unoc- 
cupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of the 
coast ; but those who fish in the neighborhood have often 
heard strange noises there; and lights have been seen 
about the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red cap 
has been seen at the windows more than once, which peo- 
ple take to be the ghost of the body buried there. Once 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 451 

upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the building for 

the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, when 

they found old father Eed-cap astride of a cider-barrel in 

the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet in the 

other. He offered them a drink out of his goblet, but 

i just as one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth — - 

' whew ! — a flash of fire blazed through the cellar, blinded 

; every mother's son of them for several minutes, and when 

I' they recovered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and Red-cap 

had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider-barrel 

11 remained. " 

I Here the half -pay officer, who was growing very muzzy 
: and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half-extin- 
guished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rush- 
li light. 

I *' That's all fudge!" said he, as Peechy finished his la.st 
story. 

'*Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said 
Peechy Prauw, * 'though all the world knows that there's 
something strange about that house and grounds ; but as 
to the story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it 
had happened to myself . " 

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the com- 

j pany had made them unconscious of the uproar abroad 

among the elements, when suddenly they were electrified 

by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering crash 

followed instantaneously, shaking the building to its very 

j foundation. All started from their seats, imagining it 

{the shock of an earthquake, or that old father Red-cap 

t^a^ coming among them in all his terrors. They listened 

Ifor a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against the 

(■windows, and the wind howling among the trees. Th© 



452 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

explosion was soon explained by the apparition of an old 
negro's bald head thrust in at the door, his white goggle 
«yes contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet with 
rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon. but half intel- 
ligible, he announced that the kitchen-chimney had been 
struck with lightning. 

A sullen pause of the storm^ which now rose and sank 
in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval 
the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost 
like a yell, resounded from the shores- Every one 
crowded to the window; another musket shot was heard, 
and another long shout, mingled wildly with a rising blast 
of wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom 
of the waters; for though incessant flashes of lightning 
spread a light about the shore, no one was to be seeu. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, 
and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. 
Several bailings passed from one party to the other, but in 
a language which none of the company in the bar-room 
could understand; and presently they heard the window 
closed, and a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture 
were pulled and hauled about the room. Tl;ie negro serv- 
ant was summoned, and shortly afterwards was seen assist- 
ing the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down-stairs. 

The landlord was in amazement. "What, you are not 
going on the water in such a storm?" 

*'Storm!" said the other, scornfully, *'do you call such 
a sputter of weather a storm?" 

"You'll get drenched to the skin, — you'll catch your 
death!" said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran, 
**don't preach about weather to a man that has cruised 
in whirlwinds and tornadoes." 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 4o3\ 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The 
voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of 
impatience ; the by-standers stared with redoubled awe at 
this man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of 
the deep, and to be summoned back to it again. As, with 
the assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous 
sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with a supersti- 
tious feeling, — half doubting whether he were not really 
about to embark upon it and launch forth upon the wild 
waves. They followed him at a distance with a lantern. 

* 'Dowse the light!" roared the hoarse voice from the 
water. '* No one wants light here!" 

** Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran, turn- 
ing short upon them; '*back to the house with you!" 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay. 
Still their curiosity would not allow them entirely to with- 
draw. A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the 
waves, and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under 
a rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges, 
and swashing the waters at every heavOo It was with 
difficulty held to the rocks by a boathook, for the current 
rushed furiously round the pointo The veteran hoisted 
one end of the lumbering sea-chest on the gunwale of the 
boat, and seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, 
when the motion propelled the boat from the shore; the 
chest slipped off from the gunwale, and, sinking into the 
waves, pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud 
shriek was uttered by all on shore, and a volley of execra- 
tions by those on board ; but boat and man were hurried 
away by the rushing swiftness of the tide, A pitchy 
darkness succeeded ; Wolfert Webber indeed fancied that 
he distinguished a cry for help, and that he beheld the 
drowning man beckoning for assistance; but when the 



454 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

lightning again gleamed along the water, all was voidj 
neither man nor boat was to be seen; nothing but the 
dashing and weltering of the waves as they hurried past. 

The company returned to the tavern to await the sub- 
siding of the storm. They resumed their seats, and gazed 
on each other with dismay. The whole transaction had 
not occupied five minutes, and not a dozen words had been 
spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair, they could 
scarcely realize the fact that the strange being who had so 
lately tenanted it, full of life and Herculean vigor, should 
already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had just 
drunk from; there lay the ashes from the pipe which he 
had smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the 
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a 
terrible conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and 
each felt as if the ground on which he stood was rendered 
less stable by his awful example. 

As, however, the most of the company were possessed of 
that valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up 
with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, 
they soon managed to console themselves for the tragic 
end of the veteran. The landlord was particularly happy 
that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning before 
he went; and made a kind of farewell speech on the 
occasion. 

*^He came," said he, "in a storm, and he went in a 
storm; he came in the night, and he went in the night; 
he came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody 
knows where. For aught I know he has gone to sea 
once more on his chest, and may land to bother some peo- 
ple on the other side of the world ! Though it's a thousand 
pities," added he, "if he has gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
that he had not left his own locker behind him." 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 455 

"His locker! St. Nicholas preserve us!" cried Peechy 
Prauw. "I'd not have had that sea-chest in the house for 
any money; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it at 
nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And, as 
to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what happened 
to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from Amster- 
dam. 

"The boatswain died during a storm: so they wrapped 
him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and 
threw him overboard; but they neglected in their hurry- 
skurry to say prayers over him — and the storm raged and 
roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man seated 
in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming hard after 
the ship ; and the sea breaking before him in great sprays 
like fire; and there they kept scudding day after day, and 
I night after night, expecting every moment to go to 
wreck ; and every night they saw the dead boatswain in 
his sea-chest trying to get up with them, and they heard 
his whistle above the blasts of wind, and he seemed to 
send great seas mountain-high after them, that would have 
swamped the ship if they had not put up the dead-lights. 
And so it went on till they lost sight of him in the fogs 
off Newfoundland, and supposed he had veered ship and 
stood for Dead Man's Isle. So much for burying a man 
at sea without saying prayers over him." 

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the com- 
pany was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall 
told midnight ; every one pressed to depart, for seldom 
was such a late hour of the night trespassed on by these 
quiet burghers. As they sallied forth, they found the 
heavens once more serene. The storm which had lately 
obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled up in fleecy 
masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright crescent 



456 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of the moon, which looked like a little silver lamp hung 
xip in a palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal 
narrations they had made, had left a superstitious feeling 
in every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot 
where the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting 
to see him sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. 
The trembling rays glittered along the waters, but all was 
placid; and the current dimpled over the spot where he 
had gone down. The party huddled together in a little 
orowd as they repaired homewards ; particularly when 
they passed a lonely field where a man had been murdered ; 
and even the sexton, who had to complete his journey 
alone, though accustomed, one would think, to ghosts and 
goblins, went a long way round, rather than pass by his 
own church -yard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home- a fresh stock of 
stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of 
pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and 
there and everywhere, about the rocks and bays of these 
wild shores, made him almost dizzy. *' Blessed St. Nich- 
olas!" ejaculated he, half aloud, '4s it not possible to 
come upon one of these golden hoards, and to make one's 
self rich in a twinkling? How hard that I must go on, 
delving and delving, day in and day out, merely to make 
a. morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade 
might enable me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my 
life!" 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been 
told of the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, 
his imagination gave a totally different complexion to the 
tale. He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew 
of pirates burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 457 

more awakened by the possibility of at length getting on 
the traces of some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his 
infected fancy tinged everything with gold. He felt like 
the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his eyes had been 
greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, that gave 
him to see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of 
buried jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish 
coins, seemed to court him from their concealments, and 
supplicate him to relieve them from their untimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds said to 
be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and more 
confirmed in his surmise. He learned that the place had 
several times been visited by experienced money-diggers, 
who had heard black Sam's story, though none of them 
had met with success. On the contrary, they had always 
been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or other, in conse- 
quence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work at the 
proper time, and with the proper ceremonials. The last 
attempt had been made by Oobus Quackenbos, who dug 
for a whole night, and met with incredible diflficnlty, for 
as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth out of the hole, 
two were thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded so 
far, however, as to uncover, an iron chest, when there was 
a terrible :roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures 
about. the hole, and at length a shower of blows, dealt by 
invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the forbidden 
ground. This Oobus Quackenbos had declared on his 
death -bed, so that, there could not be any doubt of it. He 
was a man that had devoted many years of his life to 
money-digging, and it was thought would have ultimately 
succe^&ded, had he not died recently, of a brain-fever in the 
almshouse. 

W,plfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and 



458 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

impatience ; fearful lest some rival adventurer should get 
a scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to 
seek out the black fisherman, and get hini to serve as 
guide to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious 
scene of interment. Sam was easily found; for he was 
one of those old habitual beings that live about a neigh- 
borhood until they wear themselves a place in the public 
mind, and become, in a manner, public characters. There 
was not an unlucky urchin about town that did not know 
Sam the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play 
his tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious 
life for more than half a century, about the shores of the 
bay, and the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He passed 
the greater part of his time on and in the water, partic- 
ularly about Hell-gate; and might have been taken, in 
bad weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt 
that strait. There would he be seen, at all times, and in 
all weathers ; sometimes in his skiff, anchored among the 
eddies, or prowling like a shark about some wreck, where 
the fish are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes 
seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking in the mist 
and drizzle, like a solitary heron watching for its prey. 
He was well acquainted with every hole and comer of the 
Sound ; from the Wallabout to Hell-gate, and from Hell- 
gate unto the Devil's Stepping-Stones ; and it was even 
affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their 
Christian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much 
larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely con- 
structed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built 
on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about 
what at present forms the point of the Battery.^ A **very 

^^———1 I — - ,. ■■ I — ■ .. ..1.. ■ I ., -.. .. ■-.. — -- 1 1 I I — ■ ■ 

1 The Battery is an open nark at the very point of the island of Manhattan. 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 459 

ancient and fish-like smell",^ pervaded the place. Oars, 

, paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the wall of 

the fort ; a net was spread on the sand to dry ; a skiff was 

I drawn up on the beach ; and at the door of his cabin was 

I Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of 

sleeping in the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's 
youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had 
I grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly 
recollected the circumstances, however, for he had often 
been called upon to relate them, though in his version of 
the story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw ; 
i as is not unfrequently the case with authentic historians. 
As to the subsequent researches of money-diggers, Sam 
knew nothing about them ; they were matters quite out 
of his line; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to dis- 
turb his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to 
secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot; and this 
, was readily effected. The long time that had intervened 
since. his nocturnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of 
the place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused him 
at once from his sleep and his sunshine. 

The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water, 
and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land of prom- 
ise, to wait for its turning; they set off, therefore, by 
land. A walk of four or five miles brought them to the 
edge of a wood, which at that time covered the greater 
part of the eastern side of the island. It was just beyond 
the pleasant region of Bloomen-dael.^ Here they struck 



J The Tempest, II., ii., 26. , 

2 In the form Bloomingdale this name stiU designates the section of New 
York City which lies immediately north and south of Ninetieth Street 
The Dutch name means Valley of Flowers. 



460 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

into a long lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very 
much overgrown with weeds and mullein-stalks, as if but 
seldom used, and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy 
but a kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees 
and flaunted in their faces; brambles and briers caught 
their clothes as they passed; the garter-snake glided 
across their path ; the spotted toad hopped and waddled 
before them, and the restless catbird mewed at them from 
every thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in 
romantic legend, he might have fancied himself entering 
upon forbidden, enchanted ground; or that these were 
some of the guardians set to keep watch upon buried 
treasure. As it was, the loneliness of the place, and the 
wild stories connected with it, had their effect upon his 
mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found 
themselves near the shore cf the Sound in a kind of 
amphitheatre, surrounded by forest-trees. The area had 
once been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers 
and rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, 
was a ruined building, little better than a heap of rubbish, 
with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out 
of the centre. The current of the Sound rushed along 
just below it; with wildly grown trees drooping their 
branches into its waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted 
house of Father Eed-cap, and called to mind the story of 
Peechy Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the 
light falling dubiously among the woody places, gave a 
melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster any 
lurking feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk, 
wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, emitted 
his peevish, boding cry. The woodpecker gav<3 a lonely 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 461 

tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the fire-bird* 
streamed by them with his deep-red plumage. 

They now came to an enclosure that had once been a 
garden. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but 
was little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here and 
there a matted rose-bush, or a peach or plum tree grown 
wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower 
end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side 
of a bank, facing the water. It had the look of a root- 
house. The door, though decayed, was still strong, and 
appeared to have been recently patched up. Wolfert 
pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, 
and striking against something like a box, a rattling 
sound ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert 
drew back shuddering, but was reassured on being 
informed by the negro that this was a family vault, 
belonging to one of the old Dutch families that owned 
this estate; an assertion corroborated by the sight of 
coffins of various sizes piled within. Sam had been famil- 
iar with all these scenes when a boy, and now knew that 
he could not be far from the place of which they were in 
quest. 

They now made their way to the water's edge, scram- 
bling aloDg ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and 
obliged often to hold by shrubs and grape-vines to avoid 
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length 
they came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
It was protected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a 
thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered 
and almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually 
within the cove, but the current swept deep, and black, 
and rapid, along its jutting points. The negro paused; 

* Orchard Oriole. -—[Author's Note.] 



462 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled 
poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook ; then sud- 
denly clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly forward, 
and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in the 
rock, just where a broad shelf of stone furnished a com- 
modious landing-place. It was the very spot where the 
red-caps had landed. Years had changed the more per- 
ishable features of the scene; but rock and iron yield 
slowly to the iofluence of time. On looking more closely, 
Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock just above 
the ring, which had no doubt some mysterious significa- 
tion. Old Sam now readily recognized the overhanging 
rock under which his skiff had been sheltered during the 
thunder-gust. To follow up the course which the mid- 
night gang had taken, however, was a harder task. His 
mind had been so much taken up on that eventful occa- 
sion by the persons of the drama, as to pay but little 
attention to the scenes ; and these places look so different 
by night and day. After wandering about for some time, 
however, they came to an opening among the trees which 
Sam thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of 
rock of moderate height like a wall on one side, which he 
thought might be the very ridge whence he had over- 
looked the diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, and 
at length discovered three crosses similar to those on 
the above ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but 
nearly obliterated by moss that had grown over them. 
His heart leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were 
the private marks of the buccaneers. All now that 
remained was to ascertain the precise spot where the 
treasure lay buried; for otherwise he might dig at random 
in the neighborhood of the crosses without coming upon 
the spoils, and he had already had enough of such profit- 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 463 

less labor. Here, however, the old negro was perfectly at 
a loss, and indeed perplexed him by a variety of opinions; 
for his recollections were all confused. Sometimes he 
declared it must have been at the foot of a mulberry-tree 
hard by ; then beside a great white stone ; then under a 
small green knoll, a short distance from the ledge of rocks ; 
until at length Wolfert became as bewildered as him- 
self. 

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves 
over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle 
together. It was evidently too late to attempt anything 
farther at present ; and, indeed, Wolfert had come unpro- 
vided with implements to prosecute his researches. Satis- 
fied, therefore, with having ascertained the place, he took 
note of all its landmarks, that he might recognize it again, 
and set out on his return homewards, resolved to prosecute 
this golden enterprise without delay. 

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every 
feeling, being now in some measure appeased, fancy began 
to wander, and to conjure up a thousand shapes and 
chimeras as he returned through this haunted region. 
Pirates hanging in chains seemed to swing from every 
tree, and he almost expected to see some Spanish Don, 
with his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of 
the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money-bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and 
Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that the 
flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of a 
nut, was enough to startle him. As they entered the 
confines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a 
distance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bend- 
ing under the weight of a burden. They paused and 
regarded him attentively. He wore what appeared to be 



464 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

a woolen cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sanguin- 
ary red. 

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and 
stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just 
before entering it he looked around. What was the 
affright of Wolfertwhen he recognized the grisly visage of 
the drowned buccaneer! He uttered an ejaculation of 
horror„ The figure slowly raised his iron fis't, and shook 
it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see 
any more, bat hurried off as fast«,s his legs could carry 
him, nor was Sam slow in following at liis heels, having 
all his ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they 
scramble through bush and brake, horribly frightened at 
every bramble that tugged at their skirts, nor did they 
pause to breathe, until- they had blundered their way 
through this perilous wood, and fairly reached the high 
road to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon cour- 
age enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had he 
been dismayed by the apparition, whether living or dead, 
of the grisly buccaneer. In the meantime, what a con- 
flict of mind did he suffer! He neglected all his concerns, 
wa^ moody and restless all day, lost his appetite, wandered 
in his thoughts and words, and committed a thousand 
blunders. His rest was broken ; and when he fell asleep, 
the nightmare, in shape of a huge money-bag, sat squatted 
upon his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums; 
fancied himself engaged in money-digging; threw the 
bedclothes right and left, in the idea that he was shovel- 
ling away the dirt; groped nnder the bed in quest of the 
treasure, and lugged forth, as he supposed an inestimable 
pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in- despair at 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 465 

»vhat they conceived a returning touch of insanity. There 
are two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch house- 
wives consult in all cases of great doubt and perplexity — 
the dominie and the doctor. In the present instance they 
repaired to the doctor. There was at that time a little 
dark mouldy man of medicine, famous among the old 
wives of the Manhattoes for his skill, not only in the 
healing art, but in all matters of strange and mysterious 
nature. His name was Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was 
more commonly known by the appellation of the High- 
German * Doctor.* To him did the poor women repair for 
counsel and assistance touching the mental Y^garies of 
Wolf ert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad 
in his dark camlet robe of knowledge, with his black 
velvet cap ; after the manner of Boerhaave, Van Helmont,^ 
and other medical sages ; a pair of green spectacles set in 
black horn upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a Ger- 
man folio that reflected back the darkness of his physiog- 
nomy. The doctor listened to their statement of the 
symptoms of Wolf ert 's malady with profound attention; 
but when they came to mention his raving about buried 
money, the little man pricked up his ears. Alas, poor 
women! they little knew the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in 
seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so 
many a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some 
years of his youth among the Harz mountains of Germany, 

* The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the his- 
tory of Dolph Heyliger.— [Author's Note.] 

I The Dutch, and the people of the Netherlands In general, are Low-Ger- 
mans; the inhabitants of Prussia and the other German states are High - 
Germans. 

* Boerhaave was a famous Dutch physician who died in 1738. Van Hel- 
mont was a Flemish physician who died in 1644. 



^66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and had derived much valuable instruction from the 
miners, touching the mode of seeking treasure buried in 
the earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under a 
travelling sage who united the mysteries of medicine with 
magic and legerdemain. His mind therefore had become 
stored with all kinds of mystic lore; he had dabbled a lit- 
tle in astrology, alchemy, divination; knew how to detect 
stolen money, and to tell where springs of water lay hid- 
den; in a word, by the dark nature of his knowledge he 
had acquired the name of the High-German Doctor, which 
is pretty nearly equivalent to that of necromancer. The 
doctor had often heard rumors of treasure being buried in 
various parts of the island, and had long been anxious to 
get on the traces of it. No sooner were Wolfert's waking 
and sleeping vagaries confided to him, than he beheld in 
them the confirmed symptoms of a case of money-dig- 
ging, and lost no time in probing it to the bottom. Wol- 
fert had long been sorely oppressed in mind by the golden 
secret, and as a family physician is a kind of father con- 
fessor, he was glad of any opportunity of unburdening 
himself. So far from curing, the doctor caught the 
malady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded 
to him awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt of 
money being buried somewhere in the neighborhood of 
the mysterious crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the 
search. He informed him that much secrecy and caution 
must be observed, in enterprises of the, kind; that money 
is only to be digged for at night ; with certain forms and 
ceremonies, and burning of drugs; the repeating of mys- 
tic words, and, above all, that the seekers must first be 
provided with a divining rod, which had the wonderful 
property of pointing to the very spot on the surface of the 
earth under which treasure lay hidden. As the doctoi 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 467 

had given much of his mind to these matters, he charged 
himself with all the necessary preparations, and, as' the 
quarter of the moon was propitious, he undertook to 
have the divining rod ready by a certain night. * 

* The following note was found appended to this passage in the 
handwriting of Mr. Knickerbocker. "There has been much 
written against the divining rod by those light minds who are ever 
ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature ; but I fully join with 
Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon 
its efficacy in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the 
boundary stones of fields, the traces of robbers and ipaurderers, 
or even the existence of subterraneous springs and streams of 
water : albeit, I think these properties not to be readily discred- 
ited ; but of its potency in discovering veins pf precious metal, 
and hidden sums of money and jewels, I have not the least 
doubt. Some said that the rod turned only in the hands of per- 
sons who had been born in particular months of the year ; hence, 
astrologers had recourse to planetary influence when they would 
procure a talisman. Others declared that the properties of the 
rod were either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, 
or the work of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Kaspar 
Schott in his Treatise on Magic ; 'Propter haec et similia argu- 
menta audacter ego promisero vim conversivam virgulse bif ur- 
catae nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel fraude 
virgulam tractantis vel ope diaboli,' &c. 

' 'Georg Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere dtjiu- 
sion of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary into his 
clutches, and in his treatise 'de re Metallica,' lays particular 
stress on the mysterious words pronounced by those persons who 
employed the divining rod during his time. But I make not a 
doubt that the divining rod is one of those secrets of natural 
magic, the mystery of which is to be explained by the sympa= 
thies existing between physical things operated upon by the 
planets, and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the indi- 
vidual. Let the divining rod be properly gathered at the proper 
time of the moon, cut into the proper form, use4 with the neces- 
sary ceremonies, and with a perfect faith in its efficacy, and I 
can confidently recommend it to my fellow-citizens as an infal- 



468 TALES OF A TRAVflLLER 

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with so 
learned and able a coadjutor. Everything went on 
secretly, but swimmingly. The doctor had many con- 
sultations with his patient, and the good woman of the 
household lauded the comforting effect of his visits. In 
the meantime the wonderful divining rod, that great key 
to nature's secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had 
thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occasion ; 
and the black fisherman was engaged to take them in his 
skiff to the scene of enterprise ; to work with spade and 
pickaxe m unearthing the treasure; and to freight his 
bark with the weighty spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous 
undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled 
his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if 
he should not return during the night. Like reasonable 
women, on being told not to feel alarm they fell imme- 
diately into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that 
something unusual was in agitation ; all their fears about 
the unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold 
force; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose 
himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once 
Wolfert was mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter 
to get him out of the saddle. It was a clear starlight 
night, when he issued out of the portal of the Webber 
palace. He wore a large flapped hat tied under the chin 
with a handkerchief of his daughter's, to secure him from 
the night damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red 
cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his 
neck. 

lible means of discovering the places on the Island of the Man- 
hattoes where treasure hath been buried in the olden time 
D. K. "—[Author's Note.] 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 469 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and 
accoutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy ; and 
sallied forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat; his 
black velvet cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped 
book under his arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in 
one hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of divi- 
nation. 

The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert and the 
doctor passed by the church-yard, and the watchman 
bawled in hoarse voice a long and doleful *' All's well!" 
A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little 
burgh: nothing disturbed this awful silence, excepting 
now and then the bark of some profligate night-walking 
dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is true, 
Wolfert fancied more than once that he heard the sound 
of a stealthy footfall at a distance behind them; but it 
might have been merely the echo of their own steps along 
the quiet streets. He thought also at one time that he 
saw a tall figure skulking after them — stopping when 
they stopped, and moving on as they proceeded; but 
the dim and uncertain lamp-light threw such vague 
gleams and shadows, that this might all have been mere 
fancy. 

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smok- 
ing his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored 
just in front of his little cabin. A pickaxe and spade 
were lying in the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, 
and a stone bottle of good Dutch courage, in which honest 
Sam no doubt put even more faith than Dr. Knipper- 
hausen in his drugs. 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their 
cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with 
a wisdom and valor equalled only by the three wise men 



470 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of Gotham/ who adventured to sea in a bowL The tide 
was rising and running rapidly up the Sound. The cur- 
rent bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. 
The profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here and there 
a light feebly glimmered from some sick-chamber, or 
from the cabin-window of some vessel at anchor in the 
stream. Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firmament, 
the lights of which wavered on the surface of the placid 
river ; and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in 
the very direction they were, taking, was interpreted by 
the doctor into a most propitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of Oorlaer's 
Hook with the rural inn which had been the scene of such 
night adventures. The family had retired to rest, and 
the house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass 
over him as they passed the point where the buccaneer 
had disappeared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipper- 
hausen. While regarding it, they thought they saw a 
boat actually lurking at the very place; but the shore cast 
such a shadow over the border of the water that they 
could discern nothing distinctly. They had not proceeded 
far when they heard the low sounds of distant oars, as 
if cautiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with redoubled 
rigor, and knowing all the eddies and currents of the 
stream, soon left their followers, if such they were, far 
astern. In a little while they stretched across Turtle Bay 
and Kip's Bay,^ then shrouded themselves in the deep 
shadows of the Manhattan shore, and glided swiftly along, 
secure from observation. At length the negro shot his 

iMany tales are told of the stupidity of the natives of Gotham, a 
village in England. New York is often satirically called Grotham, and it was 
Irving and Paulding in Salmagundi who first made this application of the 
name. 

In East River, below Turtle Bay. 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 471 

skiff into a little cove, darkly embowered by trees, and 
made it fast to the well-known iron ring. They now 
landed, and lighting the lantern, gathered their various 
implements and proceeded slowly through the bushes. 
Every sound startled them, even that of their own foot- 
steps among ther dry leaves ; and the hooting of a screech 
owl, from the shattered chimney of the neighboring ruin, 
made their blood run cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert*s caution in taking note of the 
landmarks, it was some time before they could find the 
open place among the trees, where the treasure was sup- 
posed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of 
rock ; and on examining its surface by the aid of the lan- 
tern, Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses. Their 
hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial was at han^ 
that was to determine their hopes. 

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while the 
doctor produced the divining rod. It was a forked twig, 
one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, while 
the centre, forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly 
upwards. The doctor moved his wand about, within a 
certain distance of the earth, from place to place, but for 
some time without any effect, while Wolfert kept the light 
of the lantern turned full upon it, and watched it with 
the most breathless interest. At length the rod began 
slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earn- 
estness, his hands trembling with the agitation of his 
mind. The wand continued to turn gradually, until at 
length the stem had reversed its position, and pointed per- 
pendicularly downward, and remained pointing to one spot 
as fixedly as the needle to the pole. 

''This is the spot!" S8^d the doctor, in an almost inau- 
dible tone. 



472 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 

"Shall I dig?" said the negro, grasping the spade. 

"Po^s tausend^ noP'' replied the little doctor, hastily. 
He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and 
to maintain the most inflexible silence. That certain pre- 
cautions must be taken and ceremonies used to prevent 
the evil spirits which kept about buried treasure from . 
doing them any harm. He then drew a circle about the" 
place, enough to include the whole party. He next gath- 
ered dry twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon which he 
threw certain drugs and dried. herbs which he had brought 
in his basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent 
odor, savoring marvellously of brimstone and assafoetida, 
which, however grateful it might be to the olfactory 
nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor "Wolfert, and. pro- 
duced a fit of coughing and wheezing that made the whole 
grove resound. Dr. Knipperhausen then unclasped the 
volume which he had brought under his arm, which was 
printed in red and black characters in German text. 
While Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by the aid of 
his spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration in 
Latin and German. He then ordered Sam to seize the 
pickaxe and proceed to work. The close-bound soil gave 
obstinate signs of not having been disturbed , for many a 
year. After having picked his way through the surf aceii;j> 
Sam came to a bed of sand and gravel, which he thre'^t.K 
briskly to right and left with the spade. . .,;; .,,:i?ii.A 

"Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he h.ear^ a tramp-^ . 
ling among the dry leaves, and a.rusUing through the, > 
bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and , they listened . 
No footstep was near. The bat flitted by- them iri silence; . 
a bird, roused from, its; ropst by the light whi(?h glared up 

» An English equivalent is " Zouads." ^ 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 473 

among the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the 
profound stillness of the woodland, they could distinguish 
the current rippling along the rocky shore, and the dis- 
tant murmuring and roaring of Hell-gate. 

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged 
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, read- 
ing formulse every now and then from his black-letter vol- 
ume, or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the fire; 
while Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit^ watching every 
stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing the scene thus 
lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflection of Wolfert's 
red mantle, might have mistaken the little doctor for some 
foul magician, busied in his incantations, and the grizzly- 
headed negro for some swart goblin, obedient to his com- 
mands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon some- 
thing that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wol- 
fert's heart. He struck his spade again. — 

** 'Tis a chest," said Sam. 

**Full of gold, I'll warrant it!" cried Wolfert, clasping 
his hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from 
above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by the 
expiring light of the fire he beheld, just above the disk of 
the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him. 

Wolfert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lantern. His 
panic communicated itself to his companions. The negro 
leaped out of the hole; the doctor dropped his book and 
basket, an(\ began to pray in German. All was horror 
and confusion. The fire was scattered about, the lantern 
extinguished. In their hurry-scurry they ran against and 
confounded one another. They fancied a legion of hob- 



474 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

goblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, by the fit* 
ful gleams of the scattered embers, strange figures, in, red 
caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The doctor 
ran one way, the negro another, and Wolfert made for the 
water side. As he plunged struggling onwards through 
brush and brake, he heard the tread of some one in pur- 
suit. He scrambled frantically forward. The footsteps 
gained upon him. He felt himself grasped by his cloak, 
when suddenly his pursuer was attacked in turn : a fierce 
fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was discharged that lit 
up rock and bush for a second, and showed two figures 
grappling together — all was then darker than evere The 
contest continued — the combatants clinched each other, 
and panted, and groaned, and rolled among the rocks. 
There was snarling and growling as of a cur, mingled with 
curses, in which Wolfert fancied he could recognize the 
voice of the buccaneer. He would fain have fled, but he* 
was on the brink of a precipice, and could go no further. 
Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a 
tugging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide 
the combat, until one was precipitated from the brow of 
the cliff, and sent headlong into the deep stream that 
whirled below. Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of 
strangling, bubbling murmur, but the darkness of the 
night hid everything from him, and the swiftness of the 
current swept everything instantly out of hearing. One 
of the combatants was disposed of, but whether friend or 
foe, Wolfert could not tell, nor whether they might not 
both be foes. He heard the survivor approach, and his 
terror revived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks 
rose against the horizon, a human form advancing. He 
cjould not be mistaken: it must be the buccaneer. 
Whither should he fly! — a precipice was on one side— 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 475 

a murderer on the other. The enemy approached — he was 
close at hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself down the 
face of the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that grew 
on the edge. He was jerked from off his feet, and held 
dangling in the air, half choked by the string with which 
his careful wife had fastened the garment around his neck. 
Wolfert thought his last moment was arrived ; already had 
he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when the string 
broke, and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from rock 
to rock, and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak flut- 
tering like a bloody banner in the air. 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself. 
When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning 
were already shooting up the sky. He found himself 
grievously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat. 
He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. 
A voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. He 
turned his eyes towards the speaker: it was Dirk Wal- 
dron. He had dogged the party, at the earnest request of 
Dame Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable 
curiosity of their sex, had pried into the secret consulta- 
tions of Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been com- 
pletely distanced in following the light skiff of the 
fisherman, and had just come in to rescue the poor money- 
digger from his pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and 
Black Sam severally found their way back to the Manhat- 
toes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. 
As to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph laden 
with bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter, fol- 
lowed by a rabble-rout of curious urchins. His wife and 
daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and 
alarmed the neighborhood with their cries ; they thought 



476 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt of 
nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, how- 
ever, still living, they had him speedily to bed, and a jury 
of old matrons of the neighborhood assembled, to deter- 
mine how he should be doctored. The whole town was in 
a buzz with the story of the money-diggers. Many 
repaired to the scene of the previous night's adventures: 
but though they found the very place of the digging, they 
discovered nothing that compensated them for their trou- 
ble. Some say they found the fragments of an oaken 
chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored strongly of hid- 
den money ; and that in the old family vault there were 
traces of bales and boxes : but this is all very dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day 
been discovered: whether any treasure were ever actually 
buried at that place ; whether, if so, it were carried off at 
night by those who had buried it; or whether it still 
remains there under the guardianship of gnomes and 
spirits until it shall be properly sought for, is all matter 
of conjecture. For my part, I incline to the latter opin- 
ion ; and make no doubt that great sums lie buried, both 
there and in other parts of this island audits neighbor- 
hood, ever since the times of the buccaneers and the 
Dutch colonists; and I would earnestly recommend the 
search after them to such of my fellow-citizens as are not 
engaged in any other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who 
and what was the strange man of the seas who had domi- 
neered over the little fraternity at Corlaer's Hook for a 
time; disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fear- 
fully. Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that 
place to assist his comrades in landing their goods among 
(-he rocky coves of the island. tilers, that he was one of 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 477 

fche ancient comrades of Kidd or -Bradish, returned to 
convey away treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. 
The only circumstance that throws anything like a vague 
light on this mysterious matter, is a report which pre- 
vailed of a strange foreign-built shallop, with much the 
look of a picaroon, having been seen hovering about the 
Sound for several days without landing or reporting her- 
self, though boats were seen going to and from her at 
night: and that she was seen standing out of the mouth 
of the harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the catas- 
trophe of the money-diggers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which 
I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer, who was 
supposed to have been drowned, being seen before day- 
break with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of his 
great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which just 
then began to roar and bellow with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and 
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowfully in his bed, 
bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His 
wife and daughter did all they could to bind up his 
wounds, both corporal and spiritual. The good old dame 
never stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting from 
morning till night; while his daughter busied herself 
about him with the fondest care. Nor did they lack 
assistance from abroad. Whatever may be said of the 
desertion of friends in distress, they had no complaint of 
the kind to make. Not an old wife of the neighborhood 
but abandoned her work to crowd to the mansion of Wol- 
fert Webber, to inquire after his health, and the partic- 
ulars of his story. Not one came moreover without her 
little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, 
' delighted at an opportunity of signalizing her kindness 



478 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and her doctorship. What drenchings did not the poor 
Wolfert undergo, and all in vain! It was a moving sight 
to behold him wasting away day by day; growing thinner 
and thinner, and ghastlier and ghastlier, and staring with 
rueful visage from under an old patchwork counterpane, 
upon the jury of matrons kindly assembled to sigh and 
groan and look unhappy around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed a 
ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in 
with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate 
the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it was 
all in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If any- 
thing was wanting to complete his despair, it was a notice 
served upon him in the midst of his distress, that the cor- 
poration were about to run a new street through the very 
centre of his cabbage-garden. He now saw nothing before 
him but poverty and ruin; his last reliance, the garden of 
his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what then was to 
become of his poor wife and child? 

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful 
Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was 
seated beside him; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed 
after his daughter, and for the first time since his illness, 
broke the silence he had maintained. 

**I am going!" said he, shaking his head feebly, "and 
when I am gone — my poor daughter" 

** Leave her to me, father!" said Dirk, manfully, — **I*11 
take care of her!" 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping 
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care 
of a woman. 

*'Enoiigh," said he, — *'she is yours! — and now fetoh 
me a lawyer — ^let me make my will and die." 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 479 

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, round- 
headed little man, Eoorback (or Rollebuck as it was pro- 
nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke 
into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing 
of a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert 
made a feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy 
buried her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame 
Webber resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which 
betrayed itself however in a pellucid tear, which trickled 
silently down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose; 
while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the fam- 
ily, played with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it 
rolled about the floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his 
forehead; his eyes closed; his whole visage the picture of 
death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his 
end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The 
lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared 
to write. 

**I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, **my 
small farm" 

"What — all!" exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawyer. 

"Yes— all," said he. 

"What! all that great patch of land with cabbages and 
sun-flowers, which the corporation is just going to run a 
main street through?" 

"The same," said Wolfert, wibh a heavy sigh, and 
sinking back upon his pillow. 

"I wish him joy that inherits it!" said the little law- 
jyer, chuckling, and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening hif 
eyes. 



480 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

'* That he'll be one of the richest men in the place!** 
cried little Rollebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step bacl^ from the 
threshold of existence: his eyes again lighted up; he 
raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted 
night-cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. 

**You don't say so!" exclaimed he. 

"Faith, but I do!" rejoined the other. — **Why, when 
that great field and that huge meadow come to be 
laid out in streets, and cut up into sr^ug building-lots — 
why, whoever owns it need not pull off his hat to the 
patroon!" 

"Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out, 
of bed, "why, then I think I'll not make my will yet!" 

To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually 
recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly 
in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness, 
which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once 
more burnt up into a flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body 
of a spirit-broken man ! In a few days Wolfert left his 
room; in a few days more his table was covered with 
deeds, plans of streets, and building-lots. Little Rolle- 
buck was constantly .with him, his right-hand man and 
adviser and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact Wol- 
fert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of 
the Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a 
manner, in spite of themselves; who have tenaciously held 
on to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages 
about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends 
meet, until the corporation has cruelly driven streets 
through their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 481 

out of their lethargy, and, to their astonishment, found 
themselves rich men. 

Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling street 
passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, 
just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure: 
His golden dream was accomplished; he did indeed find 
an unlooked-for source of wealth ; for, when his paternal 
lands were distributed into building-lots, and rented out 
to safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cab- 
bages, they returned him an abundant crop of rent; inso- 
much that on quarter-day it was a goodly sight to see his 
tenants knocking at the door, from morning till night, 
each with a little round-bellied bag of money, a golden 
produce of the soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept 
up; but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch 
house in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a 
street, the grand home of the neighborhood; for Wolfert 
enlarged it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea- 
room on top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe 
in hot weather; and in the course of time the whole man- 
sion was overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy 
Webber and Dirk Waldron. 

As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also set 
up a great gingerbread-colored carriage, drawn by a pair 
of black Flanders mares with tails that swept the ground; 
and to commemorate the origin of his greatness, he had 
for his crest a full-blown cabbage painted on the panels, 
with the pithy motto HllCS Ikopt, that is to say, all 
HEAD ; meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer head- 
fTork. 

! To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of 
time the renowned Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers, 



482 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed 
arm-chair, in the inn-parlor at Corlaer's Hook ; where he 
long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch that 
he was never known to tell a story without its being 
believed, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at.^ 

* Many of tlie situations in the treasure-digging stories remind one of 
similar ones in Stevenson's Treasure Island. In this connection one should 
also read Poe's Oold Bug; it is interesting to note further what very different 
use Hawthorne makes of a somewhat similar theme, for example, in Peter 
Goldthwaite'8 Treasure, in Twice Told Tales. 



RIP VAK WINKLE 

AND 

THE LEGEKD OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

FROM TEE SKETCH BOOK 



48S 



RIP VAN WINKLE 

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDBICH KNICKERBOCKER 

By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thy Ike day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre 

Cartwright. 

[The following Tale was found among the papers of the late 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who 
was very curious in the Dutch history of the province, and the 
manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His 
historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books 
as among men; for the former are lameintably scanty oh his 
favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still 
more their wives, rich in that legendary lore, so invaluable 
to true history. "Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a 
genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farm- 
house, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little 
clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a 
book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the province 
during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published 
some years since. There have been various opinions as to the 
literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a 
whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous 
accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first 
appearance, but has since been completely established ; and it is 
now admitted into all historical collections, as a book of unques- 
tionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his 
work, and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much 

485 



486 THE SKETCH BOOK 

harm to his memory to say that his time might have been much 
better employed in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to 
ride his hobby his own way ; and though it did now and then 
kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve 
the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deference 
and affection; yef his errors and follies are remembered "more 
in sorrow than in anger," and it begins to be suspected, that he 
never intended to injure or offend. But howevei his memory 
may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by many 
folks, whose good opinion is well worth having ; particularly by 
certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his 
likeness on their new-year cakes; and have thus given him a 
chance for immortality, alrdost equal to the being stamped on a 
Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's Farthing.] 

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must 
remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismem- 
bered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are 
seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble 
height, and lording it over the surrounding country. 
Every change of season^ every change of weather, indeed, 
every hour of the day, produces some change in the mag- 
ical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are 
regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect 
barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they 
are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold out- 
lines on the clear evening sky ; but, sometimes, when the 
rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood 
of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last 
rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a 
crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, 
whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the 
blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of 



RIP VAN WINKLE 487 

the nearer landscape. It is a little vi«llage of great 
antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch col- 
onists, in the early times of the province, just about the 
beginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyve- 
sant,^ (may he rest in peace !) and there were some of the 
houses of the original settlers standing within a few years, 
built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having 
latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with 
weather-cocks. 

In that same village, and in one of these very houses 
(which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and 
weather-beaten) , there lived many years since, while the 
country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple 
good-natured fellow of the name of Kip Van Winkle. He 
was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gal- 
lantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and 
accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina.^ He 
inherited, however, but little of the martial character of 
his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple good- 
natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an 
obedient hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter cir- 
cumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which 
gained him such universal popularity; for those men are 
most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, whc 
are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tem- 
pers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the 
fiery furnace of domestic tribulation ; and a curtain lecture 
is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the vir- 
tues of patience and long-sufiering. A termagant wife 

» Stuyvesant was governor or director of New Amsterdam from 1645 
until his death in 1672. 

2 Fort Christina was a Swedish fort and settlement on the Delaware* a 
few miles below the present site of Wilmington. It was taken by the Dutch 
in 1654. Its garrison consisted of about thirty men, and not a shot was fired 
by either side on the occasion of its siurender. 



488 THE SKETCH BOOK" 

may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a toler- 
able blessing; and if so, Eip Van Winkle was tbrice 
blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the 
good wives of the village, who, as usual, with the amiable 
sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never 
failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their 
vivening gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van 
Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout 
^'ith joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their 
sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites 
and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, 
witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about 
the village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hang- 
ing on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a 
thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog 
would bark at him throughout the neighborhood. 

The great error in Eip's composition was an insuperable 
aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be 
from the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would 
sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tar- 
tar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even 
though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. 
He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours 
together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up 
hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild 
pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even 
in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country 
frolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone-fences; 
the women of the village, too, used to employ him to run 
their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less 
obliging husbands would not do for them. In a word Rip 
was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own, 



RIP VAN WINKLE 489 

but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in 
order, he found it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his 
farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in 
the whole country; everything about it went wrong, and 
would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences were con- 
tinually falling to pieces ; his cow would either go astray 
or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow 
quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain always 
made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door work 
to do, so that though his patrimonial estate had dwindled 
away under his management, acre by acre, until there was 
little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and 
potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the 
neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they 
belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in 
his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the 
old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping 
like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his 
father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to 
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad 
weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mor- 
tals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world 
easy, eat white- bread or brown, whichever can be got with 
least thougjit or trouble, and would rather starve on a 
penny than work for a pound. ^ If left to himself, he 
would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but 
his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his 
idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on 
his family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was 
incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure 



490 THE SKETCH BOOK 

to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but 
one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, 
by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged 
his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said 
nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley 
from his wife ; so that he was fain to draw off his forces, 
and take to the outside of the house — the only side which, 
in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was 
AS much hen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle 
regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked 
upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's 
going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit" 
befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal 
as ever scoured the woods — but what courage can with- 
stand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a 
woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house 
his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled 
between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, 
casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and 
at the least flourish of a broom-stick or ladle, he would fly 
to the door with yelping precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as 
years of matrimony rolled on ; a tart temper never mel- 
lows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool 
that grows keener with constant use. For a long while 
he used to console himself, when driven from home, by 
frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philoso- 
phers, and other idle personages of the village; which 
held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated 
by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. 
Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy 
summer's day, talking listlessly over village gossip, oi 



RIP VAN WINKLE 49: 

telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. But it would 
have been worth any statesman's money to have heard the 
profound discussions that sometimes took place, when by 
chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some 
passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen to the 
contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the 
schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to 
be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; 
and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events 
some months after they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- 
lord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from 
morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the 
sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the 
neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accu- 
rately as by a sun-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to 
speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, 
however (for every great man has his adherents), perfectly 
understood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. 
When anything that was read or related displeased him, 
he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send 
forth short, frequent and angry puffs; but when pleased, 
he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit 
it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking, the 
pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl 
about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of 
perfect approlDation. 

From even this stronghold the unlucky Eip was at 
length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly 
break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call 
the members all to naught ; nor was that august person- 
age, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring 



492 THE SKETCH BOOK 

tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright 
with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Eip was at last reduced almost to despair ; and his 
only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and 
clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll 
away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat 
himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his 
wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow- 
sufferer in persecution. *'Poor Wolf," he would say, **thy 
mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my 
lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand 
by thee!" Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his 
master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily believe he 
reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, 
Eip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest 
parts of the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favor- 
ite sport of squirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had 
echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun. Pant- 
ing and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, 
on a green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that 
crowned the brow of a precipice. From an opening 
between the trees he could overlook all the lower country 
for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance 
the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on ita 
silent but niajestic course, with the reflection of a purple 
cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleep- 
ing on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the 
blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with 
fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted 
by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time 



RIP VAN WINKLE 493 

Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually 
advancing ; the mountains began to throw their long blue 
shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would be dark 
long before he could reach the village, and he heaved a 
heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors 
of Dame Van Winkle. 

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a 
distance, hallooing, '*Eip Van Winkle! Rip Van Win- 
kle!" He looked round, but could see nothing but a 
crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He 
thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned 
again to descend, when he heard the same cry ring through 
the still evening air: '*Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Win- 
kle!" — at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and 
giving a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking 
fearfully down into the glen, Rip now felt a vague appre- 
hension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the 
same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toil- 
ing up the rocks, and bending under the weight of some- 
thing he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any 
human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but 
supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in need 
of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short 
square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a griz- 
zled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion 
— a cloth jerkin strapped i:ound the waist — several pair of 
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with, 
rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. 
He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of 
liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him 
with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this 



494 THE SKETCH BOOK 

new acquaintance, Eip complied with his usual alacrity 5 
and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a 
narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain tor- 
rent. As they ascended, Eip every now and then heard 
long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to 
issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty 
rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He 
paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the mutter- 
ing of one of those transient thunder-showers which often 
take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing 
through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small 
amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, 
over the brinks of which impending trees shot their 
branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure 
sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time 
Rip and his companion had labored on in silence; for 
though the former marvelled greatly what could be the 
object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, 
yet there was something strange and incomprehensible 
about the unknown, that inspired awe and checked 
familiarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder 
presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was 
a company of odd -looking personages playing at nine-pins. 
They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; some 
wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in 
their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of 
similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, 
were peculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and 
small piggish eyes : the face of another seemed to consist 
entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf 
hat set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had 
beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who 



RIP VAN WINKLE 495 

sqemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentle- 
man, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and 
feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses 
in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in 
an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van 
Shaick, the village parson, and which had been brought 
over from Holland at the time of the settlement. 

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though 
these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they 
maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, 
and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure 
he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness 
of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever 
they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling 
peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they sud- 
denly desisted from their play, and stored at him with 
such fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, 
lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned within 
him, and his knees smote together. His companion now 
emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, 
and made signs to him to wait upon the company. 
He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the 
liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their 
game. 

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste 
the beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of 
excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and 
was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste pro- 
voked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon 
so often that at length his senses were overpowered, his 



496 ^ ' THE SKETCH BOOK 

-eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and 
he fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence 
he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his 
eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were 
hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle 
was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain 
breeze. ** Surely," thought Eip, **I have not slept here 
all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell 
asleep. The strange man with a keg of liquor — the 
mountain ravine — the wild retreat among the rocks — the 
woe-begone party at nine-pins — the flagon — **0h! that 
flagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip — '*what excuse 
shall I make to Dame Van Winkle!'' 

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean 
well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by 
him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, 
and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the 
grave roysters of the mountain had put a trick upon him, 
and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his 
gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have 
strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled 
after him and shouted his name, but all in vain; the 
echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to 
be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's 
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand 
his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself 
stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These 
mountain beds do not agree with me, " thought Rip, ''and 
if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, 
I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." 
With some difficulty he got down into the glen: he found 



RIP VAN WINKLE 497 

the gully up which he and his companion had ascended 
the pre«eding evening; but to his astonishment a moun- 
tain stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock 
to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, 
however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his 
toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and 
witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by 
the wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils 
from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of 
such opening remained. The rocks presented a high 
impenetrable wall over which the torrent came tumbling 
in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep 
basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. 
Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again 
called and whistled after his dog; he was only answered by 
the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in air 
about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and 
who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and 
scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be 
done? the morning was passing away, and Eip felt fam- 
ished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up 
his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it 
would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook 
his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart 
full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number of peo- 
ple, but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised 
him, for he had thought himself acquainted with every 
one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of a 
different fashion from that to which he was accustomed. 
They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and 



498 THE SKETCH BOOK 

whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked 
their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture 
induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his 
astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop 
of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, 
and pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one 
of which he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at 
him as he passed. The very village was altered; it was 
larger and more populous. There were rows of houses 
which he had never seen before, and those which had been 
his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were 
over the doors — strange faces at the windows — every thing 
was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to 
doubt whether both he and the world around him were 
not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which 
he had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill 
mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — 
there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been 
— Rip was sorely perplexed — ''That flagon last night," 
thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!" 

It was wi^ih some difficulty that he found the way to his 
own house, which he approached with silent awe, expect- 
ing every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van 
Winkle. He found the house gone to decay — the roof 
fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the 
hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was 
skulking about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur 
snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an 
unkind cut indeed — ''My very dog," sighed poor Rip, 
**has forgotten me!" 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame 
Van Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was 



RIP VAN WINKLE 499 

empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This deso- 
lateness overcame all his connubial fears — he called loudly 
for his wife and children- — the lonely chambers rang for a' 
moment with his voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, 
the village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety 
wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping 
windows, some of them broken and mended with old hats 
and petticoats, and over the door was painted, "the Union 
Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great 
tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, 
there now was reared a tall naked pole, with something 
on the top that looked like a red night-cap, and from it 
was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage 
of stars and stripes — all this was strange and incompre- 
hensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby 
face of King George, under which he had smoked so 
many a peaceful pipe ; but even this was singularly meta- 
morphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue 
and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a 
sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and 
underneath was painted in large characters, General 
Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
none that Eip recollected. The very character of the 
people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, 
disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed 
phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for 
the sage Nicholas Yedder, with his broad' face, double 
chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke 
instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel, the schoolmas- 
ter, doling^ forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. 
In place of these, a lean, bilious -looking fellow, with his 



500 THE SKETCH BOOK 

pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently 
about rights of citizens — elections — members of congress — 
liberty — Bunker's Hill — heroes of seventy-six — and other 
words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the 
bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, 
his rusty fowling-piece, his uncoul^h dress, and an army of 
women and children at his heels, soon attracted the atten- 
tion of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, 
eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. The 
orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, 
inquired **on which side he voted?" Eip stared in vacant 
stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled 
him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, 
**Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip was equally 
at a loss to comprehend the question ; when a knowing, 
self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made 
his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and 
left with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself 
before Van Winkle, with one -arm akimbo, the other rest- 
ing on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, 
as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, 
*'what brought him to the election with a gun on his 
shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant 
to breed a riot in the village?" — **Alas! gentlemen," cried 
Rip, somewhat dismayed, '*I am a poor quiet man, a 
native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God 
bless him!" 

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — "A 
tory! atory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with 
him!"' It was with great difficulty that the self-important 
man in the cocked hat restored order; and, having 
assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of 



RIP VAN WINKLE 501 

the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom 
he was seeking? The poor man humbly assured him that 
he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of 
some of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern. 
"Well — who are they? — name them." 
Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, 
"Where's Nicholas Vedder?" 

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man 
replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, 
he is dead and gone these eighteen years ! There was a 
wooden tombstone in the church-yard that used to tell all 
about him, but that's rotten and gone too." 
"Where's Brom Batcher?" 

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the 
war ; some say he was killed at the storming of Stony 
Point^ — others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot 
of Antony's Nose.^ I don't know — he never came back 
again." 

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" 
"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia gen- 
eral, and is now in congress." 

Eip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes 
in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone 
in the world. Every answer puzzled him, too, by 
treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters 
which he could not understand: war^-congress — Stony 
Point ; — ^he had no courage to ask after any more friends, 
but cried out in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip 
Van Winkle?" 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "Oh, 

1 There was a battle at Stony Point, on the Hudson, during the Revolu- 
tionarj"^ War. 

2 A picturesque rock which juts out into the Hudson, not far from W^est 

Point. 



602 THE SKETCH BOOK 

to be sure! that's Kip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against 
the tree. ' ' 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, 
as he went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, arid cer- 
tainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely 
confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether 
he was himself or another man. In the midst of his 
bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who 
he was, and what was his name? 

"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; *'I'm 
not myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — 
that's somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself last 
night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've 
changed my gun, and every thing's changed, and I'm 
changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am!" 

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, 
wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the 
gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at 
the very suggestion of which the self-important man in 
the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At this 
critical moment a fresh comely wonian pressed through 
the throng to get a peep at the gray- bearded man. She 
had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his 
looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, *'hush, 
you little fool; the old man won't hurt you." The name 
of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, 
all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. '*What 
is your name, my good woman?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 

"And your father's name?" 

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's 
twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, 



RIP VAN WINKLE 50? 

and never has been heard of since — his dog came home 
without him ; but whether he shot himself, or was carried 
away by the Indians, nobody can' tell. I was then but a 
little girl.'' 

Eip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it with 
a faltering voice : 

*' Where's your mother?" 

'*0h, she too had died but a short time since; she 
broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England 
peddler^" 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelli-' 
gence. The honest man could contain himself no longer. 
He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. *'I 
am your father!" cried he — *' Young Rip Van Winkle once 
— old Rip Van Winkle now! — Does nobody know poor 
Rip Van Winkle?" ' 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out 
from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and 
peering under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, 
*'Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle — it is himself! 
Welcome home again, old neighbor — Why, where have you 
been these twenty long years?" 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years 
had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared 
when they heard it ; some were seen to wink at each other, 
and put their tongues in their cheeks : and the self-impor- 
tant man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was 
over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners 
of his mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was 
a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, 



504 THE SKETCH BOOK ^ 

who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. 
Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and 
well versed in all the wonderful events and traditions ot 
the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and cor- 
roborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He 
assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from 
his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains 
had always been haunted by strange beings. That it was 
affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson,^ the first dis- 
coverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there 
every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon; being 
permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enter- 
prise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the 
great : city called by his name. That his father had once 
seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins 
in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had 
heard, One summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, 
like distant peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and 
returned' to the more important concerns of the election. 
Rip's (laughter took him home to live with her; she had 
a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer 
for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins 
that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and 
heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against 
the tree, , he was employed to work on the farm; but 
evinced. a/U hereditary disposition to attend to any thing 
else but his business, vi' 

Rip now resumed; his old walks and habits; he soon 
found many of his former cronies, though all rather the 
woyse.for the weaiCianii tear of time; and preferred mak- 

i Henry Hudson was an English navigator in the service of the Dutch 
ConipaQy. Jge s&ile(|j^,UP;tthe Hudson in Septena,her, 1609. 



RIP VAN WINKLE 505 

ing friends among the rising generation, with whom he 
5?oon grew into great favor. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that 
happy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he 
took his place once more on the bench at the inn door, and 
was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and 
a chronicle of the old times "before the war." It was 
some time before he could get into the regular track of 
gossip, or could be made to comprehend the strange events 
that had taken place during his torpor. How that there 
had been a revolutionary war — that the country had 
thrown oJff the yoke of old England — and that, instead of 
being a subject of his Majesty George the Third, he was 
now a free citizen, of the United States. Eip, in fact, was 
no politician ; the changes of states and empires made but 
little impression on him; but there was one species of 
despotism under which he had long groaned, and that 
was — petticoat government. Happily that was at an end; 
he had got his neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and 
could go in and out whenever he pleased, without dread- 
ing the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her 
name was mentioned, however, he shook his head, 
shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which 
might pass either for an expression- of resignation to his 
fate, or joy at his deliverance. 

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived 
at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to 
vary on some points every time he told it, which was, 
doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It at 
last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, and 
not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood, but knew 
it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality 
of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head and 



506 THE SKETCH BOOK 

that this was one point on which he always remained 
flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost 
universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never 
hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the 
Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are 
at their game of nine-pins ; and it \\s a common wish of 
all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life 
hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quiet- 
ing draught out of Eip Van Winkle's flagon. 

NOTEi 

The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to 
Mr. Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the 
Emperor Frederick der Rothbart, and the Kypphaiiser moun- 
tain: the subjoined note, however, which he had appended to 
the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his 
usual fidelity : 

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, 
but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity 
of our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to 
marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many 
stranger stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson ; all 
of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I 
have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last 
I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and so perfectly 
rational and consistent on every other point, that I think no 
conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain ; 
nay, I have seen a certificate on the subject taken before a 
country justice and signed with a cross, in the justice's own 
handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of 
doubt. D. K. "—[Author's Note.] 

POSTSCRIPT 

The following are travelling notes from a memorandum-book 
of Mr. Knickerbocker : 

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill mountains, have always been a 

» The 2iot€ and Postscript offer material for the study of Irvlng's method 
of adapting an old story to new surroundings. 



EIP VAN WINKLE 507 

region fuirof fable. The Indians considered them the abode of 
spirits, who influenced the weather, spreading sunshine or 
clouds over the landscape, and sending good or bad hunting 
seasons. They were ruled by an old squaw spirit, said to be 
their mother. She dwelt on the highest peak of the Catskills, 
and had charge of the doors of day and night to open and shut 
them at the proper hour. She hung up the new moons in the 
skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. In times of drought, 
if properly propitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out, 
of cobwebs and morning dew, and send them otf from the crest of 
the mountain, flake after flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to 
float in the air; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, they 
would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the 
fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an inch an hour. If dis-' 
pleased, however, she would brew up clouds black as ink, sitting 
in the midst of them like a bottle- bellied spider in the midst of 
its web ; and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys. 

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of 
Manitou or Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the 
Catskill Mountains, and took a mischievous pleasure in wreak- 
ing all kinds of evils and vexations upon the red men. Some- 
times he would assume the form of a bear, a panther, or a deer, 
lead the bewildered hunter a weary chase through tangled 
forests and among ragged rocks; and then spring off with. a 
loud ho! ho! leaving him aghast on the brink of a beetling 
precipice or raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a 
great rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, 
from the flowering vines which clamber about it, and the wild 
flowers which abound in its neighborhood, is known by the 
name of the Garden Rock. Near' the foot of it is a small lake, 
the haunt of the solitary bittern, with water-snakes basking in 
the sun on the leaves of the pond-lilies which lie on the surface. 
This place was held in great awe by the Indians, insomuch that 
the boldest hunter would not pursue his game within its pre- 
cincts. Once upon a time, however, a hunter who had lost his 
way, penetrated to the garden rock, where he beheld a number 
of gourds placed in the crotches of trees. One of these he 
seized and made off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he 



508 THE SKETCH BOOK 

let it fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed forth, 
which washed him away and swept him down precipices, where 
he was dashed to pieces, and the stream made its way to the 
Hudson, and continues to flow to the present day; being the 
identical stream known by the name of the Kaaters-kill. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 

KNICKERBOCKER 

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the half -shut eye ; 

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
For ever flushing round a summer sky. 

Castle of Indolenck. 

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which 
indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad 
expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch 
navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always pru 
dently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St 
Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market 
town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh. 
but which is more generally and properly known by the 
name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, 
in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent 
country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands 
to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be 
that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely 
advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. 
Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there 
is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, 
which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. 
A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough 
to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, 
or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that 
ever oreaka in upon the uniform tranquillity. 

a09 



510 THE SKETCH BOOK 

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in 
squirrel- shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that 
shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at 
noon time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was 
startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sab- 
bath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverber- 
ated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a 
retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its dis- 
tractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled 
life, I know of none more promising than this little valley. 

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar 
character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from 
the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has 
long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and its 
rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout 
all the neighboring country. A drowsy dreamy influence 
seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very 
atmosphere. Some say that the place was bewitched by a 
high German doctor, during the early days of the settle- 
ment; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or 
wizard of his tribe, held his pow-wows there before the 
country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. 
Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of 
some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds 
of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual 
reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs ; 
are subject to trances and visions; and frequently see 
strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The 
whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted 
spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors 
glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of 
the country, and the nightmare, with her whole nine lold, 
seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 511 

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this 
enchanted region, and seems to he commander-in-chief of 
all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on 
horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the 
ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried 
away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the 
revolutionary war ; and who is ever and anon seen by the 
country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if 
on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to 
the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and 
especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. 
Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those 
; parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating 
' the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the 
i body of the trooper, having been buried in the church- 
yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly 
quest of his head ; and that the rushing speed with which 
he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight 
blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to gel 
i back to the church-yard before daybreak. 

Such is the general purport of this legendary supersti- 

' tion, which has furnished materials for many a wild story 

in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is known, at 

all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless 

Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. 

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have 
mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the 
valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who 
resides there for a time. However wide awake they may 
have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are 
i sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of 
the air, and begin to grow imaginative— to dream dreams, 
. and see apparitions. 



613 THE SKETCH BOOK 

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible land; for 
it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and 
there embosomed in the great State of New- York, that 
population, manners, and customs, remain fixed; while 
the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is 
making such incessant changes in other parts of this rest- 
less country, sweeps by them unobserved. They are like 
those little nooks of still water which border a rapid 
stream; where we may see the straw and bubble riding 
quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic har- 
bor^ undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. 
Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy 
shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should 
not still find the same trees and the same families vege-. 
tating in its sheltered bosom. 

In this by-place of nature, there abode, in a remote 
period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years 
.since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane ; who 
sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in Sleepy 
Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the 
vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut; a State which 
supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as 
for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier 
woodsmen and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of 
Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, 
but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms 
and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, 
feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole 
frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, 
ajid flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, 
and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather- 
cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the 
wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 513 

on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering 
about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius 
of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow 
eloped from a cornfield. 

His school-house was a low building of one large room, 
rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, 
and partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was 
most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe 
twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against 
the window shutters; so that, though a thief might get in 
with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in 
getting out ; an idea most probably borrowed by the archi- 
tect, Yust Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-pot. 
The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant sit- 
uation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook 
running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at 
one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils* 
voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a 
drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a bee-hive; inter- 
rupted now (and then by the authoritative voice of the mas- 
ter, in the tone of menace or command ; or, peradventure, 
by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy 
loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to 
i say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind 
the golden maxim, *' Spare the rod and spoil the child." — 
Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled. 

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one 
of those cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the 
smart of their subjects ; on the contrary, he administered 
justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking 
[the burthen off the backs of the weak, and laying it on 
jjtbose of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that 
i^inced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with 



514 THE SKETCH BOOK 

indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by 
inflicting a double portion on some little, tough, wrong- 
headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and 
swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. 
All this he called *' doing his duty by their parents;" and 
he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by 
the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that 
**he would remember it, and thank him for it the longest 
day he had to live.'* 

When school hours were over, he was even the compan- 
ion and playmate of the larger boys ; and on holiday after 
noons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who 
happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for 
mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed 
it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. 
The revenue arising from his school was small, and would 
have been scarcely suflicient to furnish him with daily 
bread, for he was a huge feeder, and though lank, had the 
dilating powers of an anaconda; bat to help out his main- 
tenance, he was, according to country custom in those 
parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers, 
whose children he instructed. With these he lived suc- 
cessively a week at a time ; thus going the rounds of the 
neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a 
cotton handkerchief. 

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of 
his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of 
schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere 
drones, he had various ways of rendering himself both use- 
ful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally 
in the lighter labors of their farms ; helped to make hay ; 
mended the fences ; took the horses to water ; drove the 
cows from pasture ; and cut wood for the winter fire. He 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 515 

aid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute 
sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the 
school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. 
He found favor in the eyes of the mothers, by petting the 
children, particularly the youngest ; and like the lion bold,' 
W^hich whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he 
would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with 
his foot for whole hours together. 

In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing- 
master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright 
shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It 
was a matter of no little vanity to him, on Sundays, to 
take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band 
of chosen singers ; where, in his own mind, he completely 
carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his 
voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation ; 
and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that 
church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, 
quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sun- 
day morning, which are said to be legitimately descended 
from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little 
make-shifts in that ingenious way which is commonly 
denominated *'by hook ^and by crook," the worthy peda- 
gogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all 
who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have 
a wonderfully easy life of it. 

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance 
in the female circle of a rural neighborhood ; being con- 
sidered a kind of idle gentlemanlike personage, of vastly 
superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country 
swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the par- 

1 Prom the illustrated alphabet of the New England Primer: 
•' The lion bold 
The lamb doth hold." 



516 THE SKETCH BOOK 

son. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some 
little stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition 
of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, per- 
adventure, the parade of a silver tea-pot. Our man of 
letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all 
the country damsels. How he would figure among them 
in the church -yard, between services on Sundays! gather- 
ing grapes for them from the wild vines that overrun the 
surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the 
epitaphs on the tombstones ; or sauntering, with a whole 
bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; 
while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly 
back, envying his superior elegance and address. 

From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of trav- 
elling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip 
from house to house; so that his appearance was always 
greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed 
by the women as a man of great erudition, for ho had read 
several books quite through, and was a perfect master of 
Cotton Mather's * history of New England Witchcraft, in 
which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. 

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness 
and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, 
and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; 
and both had been increased by his residence in this spell- 
bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his 
capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his 
school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself 
on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that 
whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old 
Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of the 

» After Jonathan Edwards, the most notable of the New England Puri> 
Cian preachers. His Wonders of tJie Invisible World appeared in 1693. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 517 

evening made the printed page a mere mist before his 
eyes. 

Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and 
awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to 
be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching 
hour, fluttered his excited imagination : the moan of the 
whip-poor-will* from the hill -side ; the boding cry of the 
tree-toad, that harbinger of storm ; the dreary hooting of 
the screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of 
birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, 
which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now 
and then startled him, as one of 'uncommon brightness 
would stream across his path ; and if, by chance, a huge 
blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight 
against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the 
ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's 
token. His oiily resource on such occasions, either to 
drown thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing 
psalm tunes; — and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as 
they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled 
with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweet- 
ness long drawn out,"^ floating from the distant hill, or 
along the dusky road. 

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass 
long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they 
sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and 
spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvel- 
lous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and 
haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, 

* The whip-poor-will is a bird which is only heard at night. 
It receives its name from its note, which is thought to resemble 
those words. — [Author's Note.] 

» Quoted from Milton's L" Allegro. ^ 



518 THE SKETCH BOOK 

and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping 
Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He 
would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, 
and of the direful omens and portentous sights and 
sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of 
Connecticut ; and would frighten them wof ully with spec- 
ulations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the 
alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, 
and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! 

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cud- 
dling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of 
a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of 
course, no spectre dared to show his face, it was dearly pur. 
chased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. 
What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the 
dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night ! — With what wistful 
look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming 
across the waste fields from some distant window! — How 
often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, 
which, like a 'sheeted spectre, beset his very path! — How 
often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his 
own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet ; and dread 
to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some 
uncouth being tramping close behind him! — and how 
often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rush- 
ing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was 
the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings ! 

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, 
phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness ; and though 
he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than 
once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely peram- 
bulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and 
he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of th« 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 519 

devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed 
by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than 
ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put 
together, and that was — a woman. 

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one even- 
ing in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, 
was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of 
a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of 
fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting 
and rosy cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and uni- 
versally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast 
expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as 
might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture 
of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off 
her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, 
which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from 
Saardam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time; and 
withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the pret- 
tiest foot and ankle in the country round. 

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the 
sex ; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a 
morsel soon found favor in his eyes; more especially after 
he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus 
Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, 
liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either 
his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own 
farm; but within those every thing was snug, happy, and 
well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but 
not proud of it ; and piqued himself upon the hearty abun- 
dance, rather than the style in which he lived. His 
stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in 
one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks, in which the 
Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree 



520 THE SKETCH BOOK 

spread its broad branches over it; at the foot of which 
bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in 
a little well, formed of a barrel ; and then stole sparkling 
away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, that bub- 
bled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the 
farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a 
church; every window and crevice of which seemed burst- 
ing forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was 
busily resounding within it from morning to night; swal- 
lows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves ; and 
rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watch- 
ing the weather, some with their heads ulider their wings, 
or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, 
and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine 
on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in 
the repose and abundance of their pens; whence sallied 
forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff 
the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in 
an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regi- 
ments of turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, 
and guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered house- 
wives, with their peevish discontented cry. Before the 
barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a hus- 
band, a warrior, and a fine gentleman, clapping his burn- 
ished wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness of his 
heart — sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and 
then generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and 
children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered. 
The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon this 
sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his 
devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roast- 
ing-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an 
apple in his mouth ; the pigeons were snugly put to bed 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 521 

in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of 
crust ; the geese were swimming in their own gravy ; and 
the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, Ivie snug married 
couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In the 
porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, 
and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld 
daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, 
peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages; and even 
bright chanticleer himself la}'' sprawling on his back, in a 
side-dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter 
which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living. 

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he 
rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the 
rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian 
corn, and the orchards burthened with ruddy fruit, which 
surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart 
yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, 
and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they 
might be readily turned into cash, and the mon^y invested 
in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the 
wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his 
hopes, and presented to 'him the blooming Katrina, with 
a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon 
loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles 
dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a 
pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Ken- 
tucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows where. 

When lie entered * the house the conquest of his heart 
was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, 
with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the 
style handed down from the first Dutch settlers ; the low 
projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable 
of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung 



522 THE SKETCH BOOK 

flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for 
fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built 
along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning- 
wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the 
various uses to which this important porch might be 
devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered 
the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion and the 
place of usual residence. Here, rows of resplendent pew- 
ter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one 
corner stood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun; in 
another a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom ; 
ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and 
peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled 
with the gaud of red peppers ; and a door left ajar gave 
him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed 
chairs, and dark mahogany tables, shone like mirrors ; and 
irons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened 
from their covert of asparagus tops ; mock-oranges ^ and 
conch-shells decorated the mantel-piece ; strings of various 
colored birds' eggs were suspended above it: a great 
ostrich egg was hang from the centre of the room, and a 
comer cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense 
treasures of old silver and well-mended china. 

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these 
regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, 
and his only study was how to gain the affections of the 
peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, how- 
ever, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to 
the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had any 
thing but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like 
easily-conquered adversaries, to contend with ; and had to 
make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and 

^Osage-oranges, or hedge-apples; or yellow globular-shaped gourds? 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 52^ 

walls of adamant, to the castle keep, where the lady of his 
heart was confined; all which he achieved as easily as a 
man would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie ; 
and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. 
Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart 
of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims 
and caprices, which were for ever presenting new diffi- 
culties and impediments; and he had to encounter a host 
of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numer- 
ous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart; 
keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but 
ready to fly out in the common cause against any new 
competitor. 

Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, 
roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according 
to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of 
the country round, which rang with his feats of strength 
and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double- 
jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not 
unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and 
arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers 
of limb, he had received the nickname of Brom Bones, by 
which he was universally known. He was famed for great 
knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous 
on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races 
and cock-fights ; and, with the ascendency which bodily 
strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all dis- 
putes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions 
with an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. 
He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but 
had more mischief than ill-will in his composition ; and, 
with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong 
dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or 



524 THE SKETCH BOOK 

four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, 
and at the bead of whom he scoured the country, attend- 
ing every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In 
cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, sur- 
mounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at 
a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a 
distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, 
they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew 
would be heard dashiiig along past the farmhouses at mid- 
night, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cos- 
sacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, 
would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clat 
tered by, and then exclaim, *'Ay, there goes Brom Bones 
and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a 
mixture of awe, admiration, and good will ; and when any 
madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, 
always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was 
at the bottom of it. 

This raniipole hero had for some time singled out the 
blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, 
and though his amorous toyings were something like the 
gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was 
whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. 
Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates 
to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his 
amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to 
Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that 
his master was courting, or, as it is termed, ** sparking," 
within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried 
the war into other quarters. - 

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod 
Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a 
stouter man than he would have shrunk from the compe- 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 525 

tition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, 
however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance 
in his nature ; he was in form and spirit like a supple- 
jack — yielding, but tough; though he bent, he never 
broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pres- 
sure, yet, the moment it was away — jerk ! he was as erect, 
and carried his head as high as ever. 

To have taken the field openly against his rival would 
have been madness ; for he was not a man to be thwarted 
7.n his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. 
Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and 
gently-insinuating manner. Under cover of his character 
of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farm- 
house ; not that he had any thing to apprehend from the 
meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a 
stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Bait Van Tassel 
was an easy indulgent soul ; he loved his daughter better 
even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an 
excellent father, let her have her way in every thing. 
His notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to 
her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she 
sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and 
must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves. 
Thus while the busy dame bustled about the house, or 
plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest 
Bait would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, 
watching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, 
armed with a sword in each hand, was most valiantly 
fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In the 
mean time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the 
daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, 
or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable 
to the lover's eloquence. 



526 THE SKETCH BOOK 

I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed 
and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and 
admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, 
or door of access ; while others have a thousand avenues, 
and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is 
a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still 
greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the 
latter, for the man must battle for his fortress at every 
door and window. He who wins a thousand common 
hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who 
keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette, is 
indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with 
the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment 
Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the 
former evidently declined; his horse was no longer seen 
tied at the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud 
gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, 
would fain have carried matters to opeu warfare, and have 
settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the 
mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, the 
knights-errant of yore — by single combat; but Ichabod 
was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary 
to enter the lists againsts him: he had overheard a boast 
of Bones, that he would *' double the schoolmaster up, and 
lay him on a shelf of his own school -house;" and he was 
too wary to give him an opportunity. There was some- 
thing extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system ; 
it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of 
rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish 
practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the object 
of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang of rough 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 527 

riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domain^; 
smoked out his singing school, by stopping up the chim- 
ney ; broke into the school -house at night, in spite of its 
formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and 
turned everything topsy-turvy: so that the poor school- 
master began to think all the witches in the country held 
their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, 
Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule 
in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog 
whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, 
and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's to instruct her in 
psalmody. 

In this way matters went on for some time, without 
producing any material effect on the relative situation of 
the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, 
Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool 
whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little 
literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that 
sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on 
three nails, behind the throne, a constant terror to evil 
doers ; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry 
contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon 
the persons of idle urchins; such as half -munched apples, 
popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of ram- 
pant little paper game-cocks. Apparently there had been 
some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his 
scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly 
whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the mas- 
ter; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned through- 
out the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by the 
appearance of a negro, in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, 
a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mer- 
cury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half- 



628 THE SKETCH BOOK 

broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way oi 
halter. He came clattering up to the school door with an 
invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilt- 
ing frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van 
Tassels's; and having delivered his message with that air 
of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro 
is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed 
over the brook and was seen scampering away up the 
hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission. 

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school- 
room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons, 
without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped 
over half with impunity, and those who were tardy, had a 
smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken 
their speed, or help them over a tall word. Books were 
flung aside without being put away on the shelves, ink- 
stands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the 
whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual 
time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping 
and racketing about the green, in joy at their early 
emancipation. 

The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half 
hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, 
and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his 
locks by a bit of broken looking-glass, that hung up in the 
school-house. That he might make his appearance before 
his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a 
horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a 
choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Eipper, 
and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight- 
errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in 
the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the 
looks and equipments of my her^ and his steed. The 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 529 

animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that 
had outlived almost every thing but his viciousness. He 
was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a 
hammer ; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted 
with burrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring 
and spectral ; but the other had the gleam of a genuine 
devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his 
day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpow- 
der. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his mas- 
ter's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, 
and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit, 
into the animal ; for, old and broken-down as he looked, 
there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any 
young filly in the country. 

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode 
with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to 
the pommel of the saddle ; his sharp elbows stuck out like 
grasshoppers' ; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his 
hand, like a sceptre, and, as his horse jogged on, the 
motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair 
of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, 
for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called ; and 
the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the 
horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his 
steed, as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Rip- 
per, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom 
to be met with in broad daylight. 

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day, the sky was 
clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden 
livery which we always associate with the idea of abun- 
dance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yel- 
low, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped 
by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and 



530 THE SKETCH BOOK 

scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make 
their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel 
might be heard from the groves of beech and hickorjf 
nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from 
. the neighboring stubble-field. 

The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. 
In the fulness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and 
frolicking, from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious 
from the very profusion and variety around them. There 
was the honest cock-robin, the favorite game of stripling 
sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twitter- 
ing blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden- 
winged-woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his broad 
black gorget, and splendid plumage ; and the cedar bird, 
with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail, and its little 
monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue-jay, that noisy 
coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white under- 
clothes ; screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing 
and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with 
every songster of the grove. 

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open 
to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with 
delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides 
he beheld vast store of apples ; some hanging in oppressive 
opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and 
barrels for the market ; others heaped up in rich piles for 
the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of 
Indian com, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy 
coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty 
pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, 
turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving 
ample prospects of the most luxurious of pios; and anon 
he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields, breathing the 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 531 

odor of a bee-iiive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipa- 
tions stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well butteredj 
and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little 
dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel. 

Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and 
*' sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a 
range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest 
scenes of the mighty Hudsoif. The sun gradually wheeled 
his broad disk down into the west. The wide bosom of 
the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that 
here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged 
the blue shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber 
clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move 
them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing 
gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the 
deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on 
the woody crests of the precipices that overhung some 
parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark -gray 
and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in 
the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail 
hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection 
of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if 
the vessel was suspended in the air. 

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle 
of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with 
the pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old 
farmers, a spare leathern -faced race, in homespun coats and 
breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent 
pewter buckles. Their brisk withered little dames, in 
close crimped caps, long-waisted short-gowns, homespuri 
petticoats, with scissors and pincushions, and gay calico 
pockets hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as 
antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, 



532 THE SKETCBt BOOK / 

a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms oi 
city innovation. The sons, in short square-skirted coats 
with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair 
generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially if 
they could procure an eel-skin for the purpose, it being 
esteemed, throughout the country, as a potent nourisher 
and strengthener of the hair. 

Brom Bones, however, was* the hero of the scene, hav- 
ing come to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, 
a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief , and 
which no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, 
noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of 
tricks, which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, 
for he held a tractable well-broken horse as unworthy of 
a lad of spirit. 

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms 
that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he 
entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not 
those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious 
display of red and white; but the ample charms of a 
genuine Dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time 
of autusmn. Such heaped-up platters of cakes of various 
and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced 
Dutch housewives! There was the doughty dough-nut, 
the tenderer oly koek,^ and the crisp and crumbling 
cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and 
honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then 
there were apple pies and peach pies and pumpkin pies ; 
besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover 
delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and 
pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and 

» " The name means literally oil-cakes, and they were originally boiled of 
fried in oil." Colonial Days in Old New York, Alice Earle, p. 141. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 532 

roasted chickens ; togetlier with bowls of milk and cream, 
all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have 
enumerated them, with the motherly tea-pot sending up 
its cloud of vapor from the midst — Heaven bless the 
mark ! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as 
it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. 
Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his 
historian, but did ample justice to every dainty. 

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart 
dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good 
cheer; and whose spirits rose with eating as some men's 
do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his largfe 
eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possi- 
bility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of 
almost unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he 
thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the old school- 
house ; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Kipper, 
and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant 
pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him com- 
rade ! 

Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests 
with a face dilated with content and good humor, round 
and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions 
were brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of 
the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a 
pressing invitation to *'fall to, and help themselves." 

And now the sound of the music from the common 
room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician 
was an old grayheaded negro, who had been the itinerant 
orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a cen- 
tury. His instrument was as old and battered as himself. 
The greater part of the time he scraped on two or three 
strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a 



534 THE SKETCH BOOK 

motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and 
stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start. 

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as 
upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him 
was idle ; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full 
motion, and clattering about the room, you would have 
thought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the 
dance, was figuring before you in person. He was the 
admiration of all the negroes ; who, having gathered, of 
all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, 
stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every 
door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling 
their white eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory 
from ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be 
otherwise than animated and joyous? the lady of his heart 
was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in 
reply to all his amorous oglings ; while Brom Bones, sorely 
smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself 
in one corner. 

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted 
to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, 
sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former 
times, and drawing out long stories about the war. 

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, 
was one of those highly-favored places which abound with 
chronicle and great men. The British and American line 
had run near it during the war; it had, therefore, been 
the scene of marauding, and infested with refugees, cow- 
boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient 
time had elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up 
his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the indis- 
tinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of 
every exploit. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 535 

There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue 
bearded Dutchman who had nearly taken a British frigate 
with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breast-work, 
only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And there 
was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too 
rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle 
of White-plains, being an excellent master of defence, par- 
ried a musket ball with a small sword, insomuch that h^ 
absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at 
the hilt: in proof of which, he was ready at any time to 
show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were 
several more that had been equally great in the field, not 
one of whom but was persuaded that he had a considerable 
hand in bringing the war to a happy termination. 

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and 
apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in 
legendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and super- 
stitions thrive best in these sheltered long-settled retreats; 
but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that 
forms the population of most of our country places. 
Besides there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of 
our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their 
first nap, and turn themselves in their graves, before their 
surviving friends have travelled away from the neighbor- 
hood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their 
rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This 
is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts 
except in our long-established Dutch communities. 

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of 
supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to 
the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in 
the very air that blew from that haunted region; it 
breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infect- 



636 THE SKETCH BOOK 

ing all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people 
were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling 
out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales 
were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and 
wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the 
unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in 
the neighborhood. Some mention was made also of the 
woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at Eaven Rock, 
and was often heard to shriek on winter nights before a 
storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part 
of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre 
of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been 
heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, 
it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in 
<5jie church-yard. 

The sequestered situation of this church seems always 
to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It 
stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty 
elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls 
shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming 
through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends 
from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, 
between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of 
the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where 
the sunbeams seem to sleep su quietly, one would think 
that there at least the dead might r'^st in peace. On one 
9ide of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which 
raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of 
fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far 
from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; 
the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly 
shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, 
even in the daytime ; but occasioned a fearful darkness at 



THE LEGEND OF rSLEEPY HOLLOW 537 

night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the head- 
less horseman ; and the place where he was most frequently 
encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most 
heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman 
returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was 
obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over 
bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached 
the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned into a 
skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang 
away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder. 

This story was immediately matched by a thrice mar- 
vellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the 
galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that, 
on returning one night from the neighboring village of 
Sing Sing,^ he had been overtaken by this midnight 
trooper ; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl 
of punch, and should have won it tor for Daredevil beat 
the goblin horse all hollow, but, just as they came to the 
church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash 
of fire. 

All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with 
which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the lis- 
teners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from 
the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. He 
repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable 
author. Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous 
events that had taken place in his native State of Connect- 
icut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly 
walks about Sleepy Hollow. 

The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers 
gathered their families in their wagons, and were heard 
for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and over 

1 The name has been recently changed to Ossinning. 



538 THE SKETCH BOOK 

the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on pillions 
behind their favorite swains, and their light - hearted 
laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along 
the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter until 
they gradually died aw§iy — and the late scene of noise and 
frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod only lingered 
behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to have 
a t4te-d-tete with the heiress, fully convinced that he was 
now on the high road to success. What passed at this 
interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not 
know. Something, however, I fear me, must haye gone 
wrong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no very great 
interval, with an air quite desolate and chop-fallen. — Oh 
these women ! these women ! Could that girl have been 
playing off any of her coquettish tricks? — Was her encour- 
agement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure 
her conquest of his rival? — Heaven only knows, not I ! — 
Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of 
one who had been sacking a hen-roost, rather than a fair 
lady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to 
notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often 
gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several 
hearty cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most uncour- 
teously from the comfortable quarters in which he was 
soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, 
and whole valleys of timothy and clover. 

It was the very witching time of night ^ that Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel home- 
wards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise ibove 
Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in 
the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Par 

below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indis- 

•«. — p- 11 ■ < 

1 Hamlet, lU., U.. 406. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 539 

tinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of 
a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the 
dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of 
the watch dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson ; but 
it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his dis- 
tance from this faithful companion of man. Now and 
then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally 
awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farm- 
house away among the hills — but it was like a dreaming 
sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but 
occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhap? 
the guttural twang of a bull-frog, from a neighboring 
marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning sud- 
denly in his bed. 

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard 
in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollec- 
tion. The night grew darker and darker; the stars 
seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds 
occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt 
so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching 
the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost 
stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an 
enormous tulip tree, which towered like a giant above all 
the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of 
landmark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, large 
enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down 
almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was 
connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate 
Andre, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was 
universally known by the name of Major Andre's tree.* 
The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect 
and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of 

» A stone monument now marks the supposed place of AndrS's capture, 



540 THE SKETCH BOOK 

its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales oi 
strange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it. 

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to 
whistle : he thought his whistle was answered — it was but 
a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As 
he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw some- 
thing white, hanging in the midst of the tree-^he paused 
and ceased whistling ; but on looking more narrowly, per- 
ceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed 
by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he 
heard a groan — his teeth chattered and his knees smote 
against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge 
bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the 
breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay 
before him. 

About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook 
crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly- 
wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A 
few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over 
this stream. On that side of the road where the brook 
entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted 
thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over 
it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at 
this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was cap- 
tured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines 
were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. 
This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and 
fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it 
alone after dark. 

As he approached the stream his heart began to thump ; 
he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his 
horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to 
dash briskly across the bridge ; but instead of starting for-. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 541 



ward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, 
and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose 
fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the 
other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot : it 
was all in vain ; his steed started, it is true, but it was 
only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a 
thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster 
now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs 
of old Grunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and 
snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a 
suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over 
his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side 
of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the 
dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he 
beheld something huge, misshapen, black and towering. 
It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like 
some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. 
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head 
with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was 
now too late ; and besides, what chance was there of escap- 
ing ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon 
the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show 
of courage, he demanded in stammering accents — "Who 
are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his 
demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no 
answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflex- 
ible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with 
involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the 
shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and, with a 
t scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the 
road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the 
form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascer- 
tained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimen- 



542 THE SKETCH BOOK 

sions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. 
"He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept 
aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind 
side of old Grunpowder, who had now got over his fright 
and waywardness. 

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight 
companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of 
Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened 
his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, 
however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod 
pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind — 
the other did the same. His heart began to sink within 
him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his 
parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he 
could not utter a stave. There was something in the 
moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, 
that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully 
accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which 
brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against 
the sky, gigantic in height, and mufl&ed in a cloak, Ichabod 
was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless! — 
but his horror was sfcill more increased, on observing that 
the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was 
carried before him on the pommel of the saddle : his terror 
rose to desperation ; he rained a shower of kicks and blows 
upon Gunpowder, hoping, by a sUdden movement, to give 
his companion the slip — but the spectre started full jump 
with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and 
thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. 
Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he 
stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, 
in the eagerness of his flight. 

They had now reached the road which turns off to 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 543 

Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed 
with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an oppo- 
site turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. 
This road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees 
for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge 
famous in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green 
knoll on which stands the whitewashed church. 

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful 
rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but just as he 
had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the 
saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. 
He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it 
firm, but in vain ; and he had just time to save himself by 
clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle 
fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by 
his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van Rip- 
per's wrath passed across his mind — for it was his Sunday 
saddle ; but this was no time for petty fears ; the goblin 
was hard on his haunches ; and (unskilful rider that he 
was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes 
slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes 
jolted on the high ridge of his horse's back-bone, with a 
violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder. 

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the 
hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering 
reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told 
him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the 
church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recol- 
lected the place where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor 
had disappeared. **If I can but reach that bridge,"^ 
thought Ichabod, '"I am safe." Just then he heard the 

> Because witches cannot cross running water. See Bxims's Tar\ 
0*8hanter. 



544 THE SKETCH BQOK 

black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he 
even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another con- 
vulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang wpon 
the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he 
gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look 
behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to 
rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw 
the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act ol 
hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge 
the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his 
cranium with a tremendous crash — he was tumbled head- 
long into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and 
the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. 

The next morning the old horse was found without his 
saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly crop- 
ping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not 
make his appearance at breakfast — dinner-hour came, but 
no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the school-house, and 
strolled idly about the banks of the brook ; but no school- 
master. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasi- 
ness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An 
inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation 
they came upon his traces. In one part of the road lead- 
ing to the church was found the saddle trampled in the 
dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, 
and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, 
beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, 
where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of 
the unfortunate' Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered 
pumpkin. 

The brook was searched, but the body of the school- 
master was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, aa 
executor of his estate, examined the bundle which con- 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 545 

tained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts 
and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of 
worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; 
a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of dogs' ears; 
and a broken pitchpipe. As to the books and furniture 
of the school-house, they belonged to the community, 
excepting Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New 
England Almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune- 
telling ; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scrib- 
bled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a 
copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel. 
These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith 
consigned to the flames by Hans Van Eipper; who from 
that time forward determined to send his children no more 
to school ; observing that he never knew any good to come 
of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the 
schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter's 
pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his 
person at the time of nis disappearance. 

The mysterious event caused much speculation at the 
church , on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and 
gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, 
and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been 
found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole 
budget of others, were called to mind; and when they had 
diligently considered them all, and compared them with 
the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, 
and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried 
off by the galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and 
in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more 
about him. The school was removed to a different quarter 
of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in hia 
stead. 



546 THE SKETCH BOOK 

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New 
York on a visit several years after, and from whom this 
account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought 
home the intelligence that Ichahod Crane was still alive: 
that he had left the neighborhood, partly through fear of 
the goblin and Hans Van Eipper, and partly in mortifi- 
cation at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress: 
that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the 
country; had kept school and studied law at the same 
time, had been admitted to the bar, turned politician, 
electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally had 
been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. ^ Brom Bones 
to^), who shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted 
the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was » 
observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story 
of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty 
laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to 
suspect that he knew more about the matter than he 
ohose to tell. 

The old country wives, however, who are the best judges 
of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was 
spirited away by siipernatural means; and it is a favorite 
story often told about the neighborhood round the winter 
evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object 
of superstitious awe, and that may be the reason why the 
road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the 
church by the border of the mill-pond. The school-house 
being deserted, soon fell to decay, and was reported to be 
haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue; and 
the ploughboy, loitering homeward of a still summer even- 
ing, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chant- 

» A court having jurisdiction in cases not involving more tbaa ten 
pounds 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 547 

mg a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes 
of Sleepy Hollow, 

POSTSCRIPT 

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER 

The preceding Tale is given, almost in the precise words in 
which I heard it related at the Corporation meeting of the 
ancient city of Manhattoes, at which were present many of its 
sagest and most illustrious burghers. The narrator was a pleas- 
ant, shabby, gentlemanly old fellow, in pepper-and-salt clothes, 
with a sadly humorous face ; and one whom I strongly suspected 
of being poor,— he made such efforts to be entertaining. When 
his story was concluded, there was much laughter and approba- 
tion, particularly from two or three deputy aldermen, who had 
been asleep a greater part of the time. There was, however, one 
tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, who 
maintained a grave and rather severe face throughout : now and 
then folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon 
the floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind. He was one of 
your wary men, who never laugh, but upon good grounds— when 
they have reason and the law on their side. When the mirth of 
the rest of the company had subsided, and silence was restored, 
he leaned one arm on the elbow of his chair, and, sticking the 
other akimbo, demanded, with a slight but exceedingly sage 
motion of the head, and contraction of the brow, what was the 
moral of the stc^y, and what it went to prove? 

The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to hig 
lips, as a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, 
looked at his inquirer with an air of infinite deference, and, 
lowering the glass slowly to the table, observed, that the story 
was intended most logically to prove : — 

''That there is no situation in life but has its advantages and 
pleasures — provided we will but take a joke as we find it: 

"That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers Is 
likely to have rough riding of it. 

"Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand ot 
a Dutch heiress, is a certain step to high preferment in the 
state." 



548 THE SKETCH BOOK 

The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after 
fchis explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of 
'the syllogism ; while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed 
him with something of a triumphant leer. At length, he 
observed, that all this was very well, but still he thought the 
story a little on the extravagant — there were one or two points 
on which he had his doubts. 

"Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter, I 
don't believe one-half of it myself." D. K. 



INDEX OF WORDS ANNOTATED 



PAGE 

Abednego 148 

Acquaverde 116 

Addison's idea 149 

Ailes de Pigeon 50 

Alexander the Coppersmith 281 

Amuck 216 

Anatomy 197 

Ancien regime 57 

Ancient 240 

Andre, Major 539 

Annunciata 116 

Anthony, St. .. 77 

Antony's nose *. 501 

Archipelago 173 

As 304 

Astley's 269 

August, tenth of 51 

Baliol, John 52 

Barricades 58 

BartlemyFair 269 

Battery, The. 458 

Beau monde 184 

Belcher, Governor..... 411 

Bellamont, Lord 395 

Belvidera 211 

Blackbeard 428 

Block, Adrian :......... 399 

Bloomen-dael 459 

Bon repos 52 

Botany Bay 68 

Bow Street Office 182 

Bracebridge Hall 41 

Bradish 442 

Bridga f^43 

Broglio, The 101 

Buon giorno 307 

Ca-ga 51 

Caliban 261 



PAGB 

Canaille ,..= 61 

Casino 99 

Catch-clubs 156 

Chancery 216 

Charybdis 390 

Christina, Fort 487 

City v/orld 167 

Clown 203 

Cockle-shell 323 

Coligny 58 

Columbine 203 

Complexioned 76 

Con amove 204 

Consular 307 

Corlear's Hook 424 

Correggio 100 

Cospetto 326 

Covent Garden 200 

Crayon, Geoffrey 38 

Croaker, Alley 74 

Cut and Come again 147 

Dolly's Chop House 54 

Doubloons..... 429 

Drury Lane 200 

Dulcinea 235 

Eidouranion 276 

Elegant Extracts 244 

En cavalier 240 

En croupe 59 

En cuerpo 293 

Esprit de corps 178 

Estafette 289 

^ancy, The 233 

Faro 123 

Fives Court 241 

Frogsneck 392 

Fronde, The 58 



649 



560 



INDEX OF WORDS ANNOTATED 



PAGE 

"Gashly" 65 

Geneva <„„ 72 

Gens d'armes 293 

Georgio, San 101 

German waltz 78 

Gesu mori 106 

Gibed cat 211 

Goldy 166 

Gonsalvi, Cardinal 311 

Gotham 470 

Gottingen 81 

Grand Tour 98 

Greve, Place de 82 

Harlequin 203 

Harrow 170 

HeU-gate 390 

Heraldry 273 

Heyliger 417 

High-German 465 

Hippocrates 37 

Hogarth 153 

Horsing 192 

Hot pressed 149 

Hotel de Ville 83 

Hotels 85 

Hudson, Hendrick 504 

Ich liebe 36 

Isis 232 

Jack Straw 170 

Jaffier 211 

Johnson's "Lives" 193 

Juffrouws 71 

Jupiter Tonans 204 

Kidd 393 

King Charles 393 

Kip's Bay 470 

Lalla Rookh 180 

League, The 50 

Les bonnes fortunes 56 

Lintot, Bernard 162 

Literati 159 

Loretta 323 

Low Countries, The 69 



p A pT(i 

Magnifico - 99 

Manhattoes 38& 

Manton 233 

Marais 82 

Mark, St 99 

Mather, Cotton 516 

Mazarin 58 

Melancholy, Pleasures of .. 160 

Memoir 392 

Mere 118 

Merry-thought 90 

Meshech 148 

Metastasio 134 

Michaelmas 438 

Milor.. 298 

Mock-oranges 522 

Moidores 429 

Montague, Mrs 159 

Moore's Irish Melodies 223 

Morgan 428 

Mynheers 70 

Newgate Calendar 175 

Niobe 239 

Notes. 168 

Oloffe 390 

Olykoek 532 

Ore rotundo 279 

Orson 196 

Osteria - 308 

Pantaloon 203 

Pardonnez mot t 57 

Paternoster Row 161 

Patroon 432 

Paul's, St 161 

Pays Latin 81 

Peeping Tom 237 

Pelasgi 305 

Pelorus 391 

Perdu 168 

Philistis 305 

Philos 159 

Philosophy, Consolations of 236 

Piaster 429 

Piazzetta 100 

Pistareen 429 

Poissarde 4. 52 



INDEX OF WORDS ANNOTATED 



551 



PAGE 

Portes-coclidres 58 

Post, Knight of the 67 

Pots tausend 472 

Preux 51 

Prince Hal 206 

Proper 74 

Prussian Drum 35 

Punch 200 

Punic 304 

Queclah ,. 395 

Quid pro quo ._ 145 

Raphael , 101 

Reason, Goddes^ of 86 

Red Sea 74 

Rialto 102 

Robin Hood 173 

Romantic 335 

Rosalind 272 

Rouse; 284 

Salt 150 

Salvator Rosa 101, 355 

Samnite. . 305 

Sanctum sanctorum 162 

Sandwich 76 

San Francesco 320 

Sans-cidottes 51 

Shirri 351 

Sestri 120 

Shadrach 148 

Silver bullet 392 

Sing Sing 587 

Snug 205 

Soho 95 



PAGH 

Sorbonne 82 

Sort 431 

Spanish Main 438 

Stiver 433 

Stony Point 501 

Stuyvesant, Petei 487 

Swedenborg 81 

Sweet uses 187 

Swoop 177 

SyUa 390 

Taboo'd 146 

Teniers 361 

Ten-Pound Court.... 546 

Terracina 289 

Theodorio 291 

Tibbs, Mrs 158 

Titian , 101 

Toby, my Uncle 69 

Town and Gown 232 

Turenne 58 

Turpin 17a 

Turtle Bay 442 

Under the greenwood tree 173 
Vergers 191 

Waller 192 

Walloon 425 

West-end 151 

Whittington 219 

Window tax 263 

Yellow boys 175 

Zendeletta 99 



APPENDIX 

(Adapted, and enlarged, from the Manual for the Study of English 
Classics, by George L. Marsh) 

HELPS TO STUDY 

Life of Irving 

When and where was he born? What was the condition of the 
country at the time (pp. 11, 12) '? 

Where were his early years spent? Describe some of the occupa- 
tions of his youth which had an influence on his literary work 
(pp. 12, 13). 

What was the extent of his education? For what profession 
did he study? With what success (p. 15)? 

Tell something of the extent and duration of Irving 's travels 
(pp. 14, 18, etc.). 

What positions did he hold in the diplomatic service of the 
United States? 

Where did he live and what Avas his occupation after returning 
to America (p. 24) ? 

When did he die? 

Perry pictures 1 and 2 relate to Irving. 

His Works 

What was his first important literary venture (p. 16) ? Its 
success? 

What is noteworthy about the purpose, tone, and effect of the 
KnicTcerhocTcer History (pp. 16-18)? 

When and under what circumstances was The SJcetch Boole writ- 
ten (p. 19) ? Compare with the circumstances under which most 
of Scott's novels were written. What was the success of The 
JSlcetch Boole? Its results for Irving? 

When did Tales of a Traveller appear? With what success 
(p. 23)! 

552 



APPENDIX 553 

What important works resulted from Irving 's sojourn in Spain 
(p. 23)? 

What are the most important works vrhich he wrote after his 
return to America? 

What, in general, was the condition of American literature be- 
fore Irving began to write (pp. 9-11) ? What foreign recognition 
did he secure for it (see many places in the Introduction) ? 

What famous English authors were Irving 's models in his 
essays? What is to be said, however, about his essential orig- 
inality (pp. 28 ff.)? 

Tales of a Traveller 

Eead the stories as stories. 

Notice the machinery of the book: In the first part Irving as 
Geoffrey Crayon introduces ' * the nervous gentleman, ' ' who tells of 
* ' the hunting dinner, ' ' quoting in turn from the different guests 
there. Trace any similar devices in other parts of the book. 

What views does Irving express in ''To the Eeader, " as to the 
giving of morals in stories? Do you find that he offends in this 
respect in this book? 

What was Irving 's own opinion of this book (p. 23)? 

strange stories by a nervous gentleman 

Point out different ways in ''The Adventure of My Uncle" in 
which we are led to espect a supernatural visitor. 

Summarize points of contrast between ' ' The Adventure of My 
Uncle ' ' and ' ' The Adventure of My Aunt. ' ' 

In what ways is the telling of "The Bold Dragoon" made to 
seem appropriate to the character of the person who tells it? 

What effect has the final statement in "The Adventure of the 
German Student," regarding the student's being in a mad-house 
(p. 88) ? 

What is the purpose of the telling of "The Adventure of the 
Mysterious Picture ? " Of " The Adventure of the Mysterious 
Stranger?" 

Find other examples farther on of stories within stories. Is the 
device ever carried so far as to become confusing ? 

Do you detect any apparent affectation in "The Story of the 



554 APPENDIX 

Young Italian f Is there anything in his character to account 
for it? . 

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 

Note aU bits of literary criticism here "which seem to express 
living's own opinions. 

What interesting comment is there on the literary fashions of 
Irving 's time (pp. 147, 165, etc.)? 

Point out in *'The Poor-Devil Author" some of the best ex- 
amples you find of irony or mock seriousness. 

In *'Buckthorne" what interesting comment is there on pub- 
lic schools (p. 189) ? 

How seriously can you take Irving 's remarks on the poetical 
temperament (p. 190 and frequently afterward) ? 

Is the way in which ' ' Sacharissa " always turns up at the wrong 
time (p. 215 and later) natural and probable? 

By what sort of allusions is * ' The Strolling Manager ' ' made to 
seem in character? 

What is the effect on the reader of the half promise at the end 
of Buckthorne and His Friends^ 

THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 

What striking contrasts does Irving show" in the character of the 
Englishman ? 

In ■' * The Belated Travellers ' ' is the constraint of the Polish 
count's daughter and the Spanish princess's nephew sufficiently 
accounted for? 

Notice throughout these stories how the English and Italian 
characters are differentiated. 

Notice how the vivid descriptions add to the effectiveness of the 
stories. 

Point out, in * ' The Story, of the Bandit Chieftain, ' ' two or three 
of the best descriptions both of persons and of places. 

How do the comments of the author add to the effeetiven^s of 
"The Story of the Young Robber"? 

THE MONEY-DIGOERS 

What differences in style and method do you find in these 
tales, compared with the preceding, due to the fact that they are 
supposed to be related by Diedrich Knickerbocker? 



APPENDIX 555 

Tell in the briefest form consistent with completeness, the storj 
of ''The Devil and Tom Walker." 

How is nature used in ' ' The Adventure of the Black Fisher- 
man" — and just before — to heighten the effectiveness of the 
strange events related? 

What effect has Irving 's non-committal method of suggesting 
various practical solutions for events that seem supernatural, as 
near the end of * * The Adventure of the Black Fisherman ' ' ? 

SELECTIONS FROM THE SKETCH BOOK 

' ' Eip Van Winkle. ' ' What is the purpose of the introductory 
description of the Kaatskills? What are the most important dra- 
matic situations which you find in this story? What effect is in- 
tensified by having Eip's return take place at the time of an elec- 
tion? How is the supematuralism of the tale modified or quali- 
fied? 

' ' The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. ' ' What was Irving 's purpose 
in making the scene of this story a place like Sleepy Hollow? Are 
all the details about Ichabod Crane essential to the development 
of the story? What justification is there for them? How are we 
prepared by the character of Ichabod for the climax of the story 
(pp. 516-18) ? By the character of Brom Bones (pp. 523-25) ? 
Is the apparently supernatural end of the story actually explained, 
or is explanation only hinted at? 

Irving 's Style 

Irving 's style is justly regarded as a model. It may safely be 
used as such. The following topics will suggest others that may 
lead to style through imitation: 

Describe some village of your neighborhood (cf. pp. 486, 487). 

Describe some place you know, that you have been reminded 
of in reading Irving (pp. 389, 400, 417, etc.). 

Does Eip Van Winkle remind you of any one you have ever seen ? 
Tell about him. 

How would Eip Van Winkle or Black Sam feel, do you think, at 

-J Eiver or in woods (use local names)? Tell about 

their taking a walk there. 



556 , APPENDIX 

Do you know of any spot where a person might feel like hiding 
treasure ? 

Name some of the other places and persons that you have been 
reminded of, and tell about two or three of them. 

Write an essay on : " Some People Irving Ought to Have 
Known " ; " Some Places Irving Would Have Liked to Visit. ' ' 

Tell about a man who in some way falls asleep for some years 
and then wakes up to find everything changed; make him different 
from Hip (a hard-working business man, possibly), make him 
interested in the things changed and the change, and bring the 
sleep on in another way (sickness, blow on the head). 

Write a story in which a hard-hearted money lender, like Tom 
Walker (p. 414), is carried away and returns to find his valuables 
nothing but cinders. 

Let the student reproduce a page of Irving from memory; so 
far as possible the matter should be fresh without his remembering 
the form. Now let him compare. Let the class pick out in a short 
paragraph the words they cannot or do not use. Let them give 
the nearest synonyms they know. Then let them do some diction- 
ary work. In such descriptions as pages 291-94 let them pick out 
the words used to express the same thing (variety). Comparison 
with other authors is hardly profitable. However, Irving 's descrip- 
tions may be compared with those in a geography to show that 
Irving uses a class of words (emotional) not there employed; simi- 
larly with history. 

What can you say as to Irving 's range of vocabulary? His 
choice of words? Is his style stiff, or colloquial? Is it ever un- 
pleasantly colloquial?. Is the style reserved or familiar? Is it 
ever obscure and hard to follow? 

Note expressions unfamiliar to you. 

THEME SUBJECTS 

1. Life of Irving (pp. 11-25). 

2. Character sketch of Irving (with particular reference to 
characteristics indicated in the works read; pp. 21, 25-27, etc.). 

3. Irving and Scott (personal relati'cfns; Scott's estimate of 
Irving, etc.; pp. 20-22, etc.). 



APPENDIX 557 

4~. Irving 's place in Literature (both English and American; 
pp. 10, 11, 27-32). 

5. Irving 's boyhood (with particular reference to occupations 
that affected his writings; pp. 12, ^13). 

6. Irving's life, abroad (pp. 14, 15, 18 ff.). 

7. Does Irving present his "moral'' according to his declara- 
tion on page 37? 

8. The plan of this collection of tales. 

9. An original ghost story by the student. ■ 

10. Description of the picture painted by the young Italian 
(p. 139). 

11. The story of the *' Poor-Devil Author" and the highway- 
man (pp. 171-77). 

12. A call upon a publisher (suggested by pp. 162 ff.). 

13. Character sketch of Buckthorne. 

14. A country fair today (cf. the fair described by Buckthorne, 
pp. 200 f£.), 

15. Buckthorne and his ' ' Sacharissa. " 

16. The disadvantages of a ''poetical temperament." (See the 
story of Buckthorne, throughout.) 

17. The career of a strolling player (pp. 268 ff.). 

18. An English traveler (as portrayed by Irving, pp. 295 ff., 
334 ff.). 

19. An imaginary story of the acquaintance of the Polish 
count 's daughter and the Spanish princess 's nephew before the ad- 
venture narrated in ''The Belated Travellers." 

20. Which Tale most appeals to your sense of humor, and why? 

21. Hell-Gate as it is today. 

22. The story of Captain Kidd (pp. 393 ff.). 

23. Character sketches of Tom Walker and his wife (showing 
differences, etc.). 

24. Nature pictures in "The Devil and Tom Walker." (Note 
appropriateness to the character of the tale.) 

25. Comparison of the stranger at the inn (in *'Wolfert Web- 
ber," pp. 435 ff.) with Billy Bones, in Treasure Island. 

26. Dutch customs as reflected in the Knickerbocker stories. 

27. Character sketches of Wolfert Webber, Dirk Waldron, 
Kamm Eapelye, Black Sam. 



558 APPENDIX 

28. An imagiiaary account of the real finding of Captain Kidd 's 
treasure. 

29. The Kaatskills of today. (Contrast them as in Irving 's 
time; pp. 13., 486, 506-7.) 

30. Dramatic elements in ''Kip Van Winkle." 

31. Write your impression of your own city in 1940 (if, like 
Rip, you should sleep from now until then), 

32. Joseph Jefferson in ' ' Rip Van Winkle. ' ' 

33. Character sketch of Rip Van Winkle (pp. 487 ff.). 

34. A defense of Rip's wife. 

35. Description of some village character of the student's ac- 
quaintance, suggested by Rip Van Winkle. 

36. Character sketches of Ichabod Crane ; Brom Bones ; Katrina 
Van Tassel. 

37. The story of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow 
(your own version). 

SELECTIONS FOR CLASS READING 

1. The *' Adventure of the German Student" (pp. 80-88). 

2. The ''Adventure of the Mysterious Picture" (pp. 89-98). 

3. The climax in the young Italian's story (pp. 131-40). 

4. "A Literary Dinner" (pp. 148-52). 

5. The "Poor-Devil Author" and the highwayman (pp. 
170-77). 

6. How Buckthorne became an actor (pp. 204-210). 

7. The will of Buckthorne 's uncle (pp. 250-53). 

8. "The Booby Squire" (pp. 260-66). 

9. The "Adventure of the Little Antiquary" (pp. 304-10). 

10. The "Adventure of the Popkins Family" (pp. 334-38). 

11. The capture of the painter (pp. 342-49). 

12. How the bandit chieftain was driven to outlawry (pp. 
350-53). 

13. "The Adventure of the Englishman" (p. 378-85). 

14. "Hell-Gate" (pp. 389-92). 

15. Tom Walker and the black man (pp. 401-406), 

16. Wolfert Webber's home and family (pp. 418-24). 

17. Wolfert at the inn (pp. 424-29). 



APPENDIX 559 

18. A stranger at the inn (pp. 435-39), 

19. The ''Adventure of the Black Fisherman" (pp. 444-49). 

20. The stranger departs (pp. 451-54). 

21. Wolfert seeks the buried treasure (pp. 468-75). 

22. Wolfert 's recovery (pp. 475-82). 

23. Rip Van Winkle's character and home life (pp. 487-491). 

24. Eip and Hendrick Hudson's crew (pp. 493-496). 

25. The awakening (pp. 496-503). 

26. Ichabod Crane (pp. 512-517). 

27. Icjiabod in love (pp. 519-526). 

28. The party at Van Tassel's (pp. 531-537). 

29. Ichabod 's journey home (pp. 538-543). 



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